#and refuses to consider that the coaches are a problem

[juuse74]

Is there a reset button we can push and just go back to last season's roster?

[inbabylontheywept]

i did wrestling in middle school. on one hand, i was actually quite good at it, which was nice. being good at any sport was a new achievement for me. on the other hand, i was bi, and i was trying very hard not to notice that i was bi, and getting folded into knots by very kind, very muscular dorks made that task somewhat difficult.

adding fire to the problem was that my parents and my grandparents wanted to watch my matches, because they were very proud that their Gangly Nerd Son was actually Sporting, and they wanted to cheer me on. which would've been sweet and all, but if there are four people you do not want there during a key part of your Burgeoning Sexual Awakening, it is your mom and your dad and your grandma and your grandpa.

right? i mean, imagine some guy's got your head in his armpit, and you're going you know, old sweat smells bad, but fresh sweat has a sort of and then you make eye contact with your grandpa in the stands and you remember you're swearing spandex so if you pop a boner people aren't just going to be able to see the outline, they're going to be able to count the veins, and the only way you will be able to restore your family's honor after that would be by moving to siberia and renouncing joy, forever. that, or lift your entire body up by your kneck then twist 180 degrees without paralyzing yourself.

it’s a lot of pressure, is what i’m saying.

still it did motivate me to win my matches really fast. because i was so tall and skinny, i was stupidly good at the double leg takedown, and then once someone was knocked down, i'd just do the half nelson and kind of flip em over for the pin. then the ref would count to three and i’d win. EZPZ.

i had one match where that went great. won in the first ten seconds, sat back down, and prepared myself for a good hour or two of doing fuck all. didn't even feel bad the parents/grandparents were gonna be bored. the matches went up from me in 5 pound increments (i was in the 115 lbs division) and it was going great until we got to the 145 lbs division. the other school's wrestler stepped onto the mat, and she turned out to be a girl so our guy flipped, because for straight guys, wrestling a girl is not a pleasant experience.

i'm not entirely unsympathetic. my experience wrestling dudes was definitely a little traumatic. but also, i dealt. guy could've dealt too. instead, he refused to wrestle, and the coach went - fine. not even worth fighting over.

so he went to the 140 pounder, and that guy said, nosir, my mom said mormons can't wrestle girls. next guy down, 135 pounder, now he knew he could pull the same card and thus did. 130 pounder, 125, both tapped out. he got to the 120 guy, and that guy was catholic, but he said he was considering being mormon, and thus would have to pass. as a precaution.

coach blew up a little at that. he said "is there anyone - anyone - on this entire goddamn team that is willing to wrestle a girl?" and then he pointed at me and said "YOU. MAT. GO."

and i'll be real, if i'd been paying more attention, i'd have pulled the mormon card too, but i'd just been putting all that audio into a buffer file because i was reading, so i was halfway across the mat before i even processed what had been said and by then it was too late to turn back.

still i had a plan. and my plan - my beautiful, perfect plan - was to do what i'd always done. tackle, flip, pin, win. sit down. read. bore my family to death. move on.

i got the first part right. she was bigger than me, but she wasn't taller. just an incredibly stout woman. god built me like a snake with glasses, just as he built her like a combat cube. the problem was the half nelson. soon as she was down, i tried hooking my arm under hers from behind and for both genders, the defense for this move is just clamping your arms really fucking tight against your sides. if you're a guy, that's whatever, but if you're a girl - especially if you're god's chosen combat cube - that pins your opponents hand right against your boob.

so, i got the hook in, she clamped, my whole arm pressed against something soft, my coach was yelling THE HALF NELSON. BABYLON! JUST FINISH IT! FINISH THE HALF NELSON! and i was just trying to press hard enough to finish, when then my brain went

...oh.

and i flipped out. of course i flipped out. i like girls, and touching a boob is an elemental experience, and i was not ready. i was not prepared. i had not committed the sacred rites. i recoiled like i'd just brushed my arm against the surface of the sun, stood up, and backed away. nobody in the room knew why i'd given up. all they saw was me, right about to win, suddenly flailing around and scrambling. so everyone started screaming at me to just get the half nelson again, and i couldn't really yell back there's a fuckin' boob in the way and it was very distressing, and the only way i could think of to make them stop was just doing it over again the right way.

so i did.

i hunkered down and prepared myself for Wrasslin' Attempt #2: The Sequel.

i knocked her down again, EZPZ. i went for the half nelson again, but she knew what i was about to do so she super clamped, and i knew she was gonna super clamp, so i wound my arm back like a pop-eye cartoon punch before swinging my arm through the gap between her bicep and her side, but the amount of time i spent winding back super signalled what i was about to to do, which gave her time to clamp even harder, which somehow redirected the entire force of the popeye punch to the bottom of her bra.

it spat out a single boob the same way an action hero might spit out one single tooth after getting a solid crack across the jaw. as if to say:

*ptooie.* "that all you got?"

i did not actually see this. my experience was that first there was an arm, then there was a bit of boob, but i was braced, i was ready, forward at all costs, tatakae motherfuckers, and then the boob went away, and i didn't know where it went but my team, and the audience, and everyone who was in front of me, they all gasped like i just kicked them in the stomach. except for my coach. he was behind me, and thus one of the four people in the room who did not see the boob. now my mom, my dad, my grandma, and my grandpa, they all got flashed but nooooooo, coach thunderbutt was behind me, and he didn't see shit so he was still yelling NOOOOOO BABYLON WHAT ARE YOU DOING JUST FINISH THE NELSON! GO FOR THE KILL! BABYLON! BABYLON!

but i did not go for the kill. i stood up and she stuffed her boob back real fast, and we just kind of circled each other awkwardly until time ran out and i won on points. that's not technically allowed, but the ref had some mercy on me.

my coach did not.

i barely had time to sit down before he strode over to the bench to chew me out.

"babylon," he said, in that very calm way people get when they're too pissed to yell. "why didn't you pin?"

and i didn't know how to say well coach, i tried, but there was a boob, and it kept getting in the way, and my mom was watching, and so was my dad, and so was his dad, and his mom, and god (like bible god) and that's a can of worms because i'm pretty sure he was already mad at me, and i'm wearing spandex, and i think i might have to move to siberia, so instead i said

"i uh. i forgot how to do the half nelson."

which is actually impossible. forgetting how to do the half nelson is like forgetting how to swallow your spit.

and he looked at me, like i was the dumbest person in the entire world, and i looked through him like i'd just survived my 250th day in a trench at verdun, and he said: fine.

fine.

but we're all going to practice it for an hour tomorrow because you forgot.

and then he left.

and my buddies had the gall to be salty about it. i got so many comments saying "dude, why didn't you just tell him the truth?" and i said "you can if you care so damn much. you could've wrestled the girl too. maybe someone else should do the hard thing today."

but they didn't. so the next day, we did an hour of half nelson drills, and i spent a decent amount of time getting thrown around the mat, and it was pleasant in exactly the way that i hated and the year after that, to the surprise of everyone but myself, i quit wrestling and joined the trivia team.

and if you want more reasons to love my mom, my grandpa joked after the match that i might have to talk to my bishop about it, and my mom told him he would be allowed to make jokes after he stood in front of a crowd of 110 people in spandex underpants while wrestling a woman that was not his wife.

he paused for almost five seconds after that. then he said: aw. hell. sorry babylon.

and i'd have preferred my apology from god, but getting it from him was pretty good too.

[rmview]

hard to handle | san, m.

summary: san, a cocky boxer with a notorious temper, meets his match in his resilient physiotherapist who refuses to quit despite his antics. he does a good job keeping you at a distance, but during a playful bout, unintentional feelings surface and cause things to get a little physical.

pairing: boxer!choi san x physiotherapist f!reader

genre: boxing!au, pwp, tension, smut

words: 4.2k words

warnings: explicit & messy & unprotected sex, mean!san, cocky dom!san, big cock!san, sub!reader, size kink, pinning/restraining, teasing, clothed grinding, biting, praise, marking, fingering, clit play, orgasm control, edging, handjob, penetrative sex, choking, tears, creampie, almost public sex (?) and voyeurism themes — they’re in a public room with the door unlocked, interruptions.

minors do not interact! | masterlist | more ateez content

“you’re not allowed to quit.”

the words came sharp and sudden, slicing through the air with the same precision san delivered in the ring. you froze mid-stretch, hands stilling over his sore leg. slowly, you turned to meet his gaze, confused by the uncharacteristic weight in his tone.

“…okay,” you replied cautiously, trying to gauge his mood.

san’s brow furrowed deeper, and the irritation etched across his face didn’t waver. “coach kim told me you were planning to leave,” he pressed, voice edged with something almost accusatory.

you blinked, letting his words settle. with how insistent and demanding san was, it wouldn’t have surprised you if that rumor had sprouted legs and started running. after all, you weren’t the first physiotherapist to step into this circus — and judging by the quick turnover before you, most had found the door far more inviting than the job.

but you stayed.

why? it wasn’t some deep-seated need to prove yourself or a traumatic past molding you into a masochist. no, it was simpler than that: the paycheck was solid, and once you learned to see past san’s gruff exterior and insufferable tendencies, he was just… tolerable. like dealing with an overgrown five-year-old throwing tantrums in the body of a professional fighter.

“well, coach is wrong,” you said, shrugging as you resumed your careful movements on his leg. your voice was calm, steady, not betraying the flicker of amusement rising in you at his sudden concern.

but san wasn’t convinced. his dark eyes narrowed as if searching your face for a crack, a lie, a tell.

“he said you’re thinking about it,” he countered, his scowl deepening. “you can’t leave. i need you.”

it wasn’t romantic — far from it. his words came out firm, almost commanding, the way you’d expect from someone used to giving orders. someone used to winning.

still, something about this moment felt different. the commanding façade faltered ever so slightly, and there was a flicker of something raw in his voice. vulnerability, maybe? you weren’t sure. but it was there, buried under the frustration, and you couldn’t ignore it.

what was his deal? what was it about the idea of you leaving that got under his skin?

you paused again, letting your hands rest gently on his leg as you glanced up. his expression hadn’t softened, but you could see the edges weren’t as sharp. your lips twitched, a small smile creeping in despite yourself.

“are you sure coach kim wasn’t just teasing you?” you asked, your tone light as you tried to ease the tension. “you know, considering your, er, personality? because honestly, i haven’t thought about leaving.” even though it’s the saner option, you thought, but didn’t say it out loud.

san huffed, leaning back against the mat, his lips pressed into a thin line. he looked at you for a long moment, his jaw clenching before he finally spoke. “are you calling me a problem?” his voice was low, sharp, and cold enough to send a chill down your spine.

your breath hitched as his piercing gaze locked onto you, unrelenting and unreadable. his tone alone made your stomach twist, but it was the way his leg pulled away from your hands that had you stiffening. the dismissal in his actions was clear — he didn’t want you there.

“i…” you faltered, feeling the weight of his words press against you. “of course not, san. you’re not the problem.”

your voice was soft, careful, an attempt to diffuse the tension. but his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched, signaling that your words did little to soothe his frustration.

“then leave,” he snapped, turning his head to the side, arms crossing over his chest like a fortress. “i don’t need you.”

his dismissal stung more than you’d like to admit, but you swallowed the lump forming in your throat. “i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your tone hushed but steady, a small smile twitching on your lips. “i enjoy working with you too much.”

he scoffed, his lips curling into a mean sneer. “don’t bother lying, princess, you’re terrible at it.”

his words were biting, but the way he leaned slightly closer didn’t go unnoticed. he was testing you, waiting for you to crack under the weight of his intimidation.

“i’m not lying, i wasn’t lying.” you whispered, shaking your head. “just teasing…”

“well, stop it,” he growled, his voice dropping an octave. the air around you grew heavier as he glared at you. “it’s annoying. i don’t like it.”

“i know,” you murmured, your voice almost playful as you reached out, lightly brushing your fingers against his arm. “but that’s exactly why i do it. you’re kind of… cute when you’re like this.”

his eye twitched at your words, and the next thing you knew, he moved. with one swift motion, he shoved you back against the couch, his body towering over yours. his knee pressed into the cushion beside your hip, locking you in place, while his other hand braced against the armrest, boxing you in completely.

the weight of his presence stole the air from your lungs as he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours. the glint in his eyes was sharp, teasing yet dangerous, and his lips curled into a sneer that sent a shiver down your spine.

“cute?” he repeated, his tone mocking as he pinned your wrists above your head. his grip was firm but not enough to hurt, though the dominance in his posture had your heart pounding.

you stared up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, your cheeks heating under his intense scrutiny. “san…” you started, but your voice faltered.

he leaned in closer, his face mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours. “do you think you’re immune to being kicked to the curb just because you’ve been here the longest?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with warning.

your lips parted, a soft laugh escaping despite the way your body trembled under his. every part of you that he touched sent sparks flying through your veins, down your spine and between your legs. “you’d never. i’m your favorite,” you whispered, trying to mask your flustered state with a teasing edge, your words holding truth.

his expression hardened, but he didn’t pull away. instead, his grip on your wrists tightened slightly, his eyes boring into yours. “you wish,” he scoffed, though the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him. that and the subtle twitch of his cock in his shorts that you definitely felt from how you froze.

you weren’t sure whether to feel thrilled or terrified, but one thing was certain: you were treading dangerous waters, and san didn’t look like he was about to let you off easy.

“...this is a very risky, er, position,” you choked out softly, voice slightly strained. your gaze flickered between his narrowed brown eyes, to the door of the break room that you both were in, it’s door unlocked. your thighs rubbed together almost unknowingly and you resisted the urge to squirm. you were trapped.

“mhm.” san hummed dismissively, his gaze not leaving you. every twitch in your expression was noticed by him, especially the growing warmth on your cheeks and ears, that made him smirk. “and?”

“and coach could walk in...” you cleared your throat, mind fogging and something in the pit of your stomach clenching. you couldn’t imagine the look on the old man’s face if he walked in and saw you under the star fighter you were supposed to be healing. “it would be embarrassing.”

san chuckled, and your gaze snapped to his. it was mocking and you shivered — from fear or arousal, you didn’t know. “why? we aren’t doing anything... yet.”

“yet?” your heartbeat was wild, throbbing in your ears. you were sure san could hear it. if he was being so mean, he definitely could and was taking advantage of how meek you were. he knew you could never say no to him, not that you wanted to. “what do you — mmpf!”

the next thing you knew, you felt a tongue slipping past your lips, swirling inside your mouth. your breath was stolen from you, and with his free hand, san grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them to the couch, using his body to keep you in place.

it was a sloppy and dominating kiss. he explored and claimed every part of your mouth without pulling away. his body pressed against yours, and the kiss slowly grew more heated. his hand wandered down your sides, squeezing them softly for a moment before he pulled away from your lips, breaths mingled.

san studied your expression, eyes still narrowed in a cold glare. he smirked at how out of breath and dazed you looked, and pushed his knee between your thighs to part your legs. you were practically shaking and san didn’t even do anything yet.

“stupid.” he mutters out, tone rough and husky. leaning down to your neck, san began sucking on the sweet spot under your jaw that made you squeak.

his body pressed against you, almost uncomfortably, and you were practically trapped underneath him. your wrists were still pinned down, and you were hyperaware of every ridge and pane of his body on top of your curves. his broad chest, beefy arms, strong thighs and hard cock were suffocating you, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“you’re so stupid and cute, i could eat you right now.” he rasped, lifting his head to look down at you. his face was inches from your own. san looked obsessed.

you shivered at the unusual glint in his piercing glare, his smirk almost evil and you flushed. “eat me?”

“every last bit.” his voice was rough. a stark contrast to his actions. his hands would rub up and down your sides gently, his face still close.

a low and sensual growl spilled from between his lips as he kissed you again, lips rougher. he brought one of his hands up to thread into the hair at the base of your neck, tilting your head so he could have more access to your lips. his arm wrapped around your waist, tugging your body as close to him as possible.

everything was fine — as fine as san eating your face off could be — until you felt something long and hard press right against your clothed clit. “ngh... san!”

he merely chuckled against your lips, sharp teeth tugging your bottom lip, and then smoothing the sting with his warm tongue. “what?”

“i’m...” you started, but were unable to continue, gasping when you felt his hips grind against yours once more. small sparks shot from your clit to your spine, and you arched softly, voice a pitch higher. your pussy clenched around nothing. “...sensitive.”

“i know.” san groaned in your neck, and you felt his thick fingers of his free hand undo the drawstrings on your uniform scrubs. he silenced any of your gasps with another kiss, slipping his fingers into the front of your pants to push past your panties. you barely had time to register his next actions, until you felt the rough pads of his calloused fingers run over your quivering clit and folds.

your wrists were still held down with one of his hands as you moaned shakily, eyes squeezing shut. you felt san’s long fingers smear your slick all over the folds of your cunt, cursing lowly under his breath.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he exhaled, his fingers circling your swollen clit and making you twitch. the feel of you writhing under him, feeling you squirm and hearing you moan, it only made san want more. he leaned down, his lips on your neck, nipping and sucking as he slipped a digit into your pulsing pussy, feeling your tight walls clench around him. “fuck.”

san gritted his teeth and, his body trembled with restraint.

“san... ah...” you squirmed softly as you felt his fingers pump and prod your spongy walls, gushing wetness the longer he stretched out your cunt. your eyes were glazed, and your arousal was dripping down his knuckles the longer he curled and scissored you open on the couch. “we... we shouldn’t be doing this.”

the sounds of your pretty voice, the feeling of your hips moving against his hand, the soft moans and gasps — san was losing himself in you. he added another finger, feeling the heat of your cunt around his digits, wanting to hear those sweet sounds of yours. “oh?”

“t-the door... it’s unlocked.” it was a miracle you could still think from how deliciously he played your cunt, but your ears were still hyperaware of the faint yells and sounds of sparring from the main gym. you throbbed around his fingers, almost in fear of being caught.

san grunted, reaching as deep as he could with the tips of his fingers before slowly pulling the digits out, and glancing down to see the way his skin glistened with your juices. “doesn’t matter.”

“but...” “but nothing.” san scoffed and sat back on his knees, undoing his shorts and pushing the cloth down along with his boxers so his hard cock sprung out. the veiny length was twitching and leaking precum from the angry red tip, and your flushed gaze was drawn to the sight while you rubbed your sore wrists. he used your slick smeared on his fingers to pump his hard cock, taking in the sight of you panting and sprawled half-naked on the break room sofa, thighs parted and folds glistening. “the only one coming in this room is you.”

your gaze met his smirking one and you tried to scowl softly, propping yourself up on your elbows shakily. “very funny.”

“i’m not done with you, princess.” san crawled back over you, pushing his face in your neck to nip at that spot that made you squirm, shifting between your legs.

you were so tired of him toying with you that you reached out to grasp his cock with your hands, experimentally stroking the hard length. your fingers couldn’t even wrap fully around the girth of his thick shaft, but that didn’t stop you. san let out a choked groan, his teeth gripping the flesh of your neck as you flicked your wrist at an agonizingly slow pace.

it was your first time fisting a cock and your hands were almost shaking. yet you loved the feeling of the large man practically turning into jelly above you from a few strokes. it only motivated you to try and squeeze tighter, pumping up and down, as your flustered gaze met his weak one. san was still trying to keep up his facade, but not for long.

san couldn’t hold back any longer. “that’s enough!��� he hissed weakly, smacking your hand away and pulling you to lie back down on the couch, while he positioned the bulbous head of his thick cock at your entrance. “no more playing around.”

san was looking down at you, his eyes dark and focused, his body trembling with restraint that was held by a thread. he was so tightly wound and needed to cum now, before he actually lost it.

“o-okay...” your clit throbbed as he rubbed his cock against your wet folds a few times. your eyes were almost hazy from pleasure, and you pawed at the leather of the couch for stability. suddenly san couldn’t hold back any longer.

he grabbed one of your legs, to rest it over his shoulder, and pushed it up before he leaned over you, his body hovering above yours as he nipped and sucked at the sensitive skin on your neck. san’s hand gripped one of the small throw pillows for a moment, moving it underneath your hips, and then he slowly started to push his cock forward into your entrance.

as he sunk his thick shaft into your cunt inch by inch, the feeling of you clenching around him, the feeling of your breath catching in your throat, the way your body shook at the slow bottoming out — san’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head.

he grunted through his gritted teeth, his hand leaving the pillow by your hip to reach up and grasp your wrist, to hold it down again. san looked down at your face, his hips rocking slowly at first to get a feel of stretching out your small stretchy cunt, as his words came in short bursts. “god… ah… just like that…”

“san...” your voice was a soft breathless whimper, the sight of him above you making you quiver and clench more. all your dazed eyes could see was a beefy and sweaty san on top of you, jaw clenched and grunting, and you nearly came on the spot. “y-you... you... i hate you.”

he sight of you below him, so docile, flushed and soft, made his chest swell with something, his lips pulling into a slow mocking grin. “yeah?”

san was so desperate, so fucking hard at the thought of claiming you all night, to mark you and keep you under him. you had no idea how much he needed you. how could you, when he’d never said a word?

your cunt was so tight and warm. like nothing he’d ever had, or imagined in his long showers after training, eyes closed and fisting his cock for a quick release while he wished it was your cunt milking him instead. now, having you under him for real felt like a fever dream, and san’s hips had a mind of their own from the way his thrusts started to pick up pace.

“yeah.” your breath hitched softly, already forgetting your previous train of thought from the way san’s hips angled. the tip of his cock continued to repeatedly bully the spongy sensitive spot in you, making you see stars. “you’re so mean to me... all the time... a-and... and...”

you trailed off, eyes squeezing shut softly as you nearly found yourself cumming all over his cock. san was close too, and he just needed a few more thrusts before —

knock, knock.

fuck.

both you and san froze, and for a moment you felt your soul leave your body. whoever it was, could just twist the knob of the unlocked door and see you sprawled under san, with your leg over his shoulder, and his cock buried ten inches deep in your cervix.

“san, sparring practice in ten minutes!” coach kim called out cheerily from behind the door, unaware.

“we’ll be out soon.” san’s voice rumbled, and your wide-eyed gaze snapped to him, clenching almost in fear. san felt the twitch of your walls and glanced down at you, something almost evil lighting up in his eyes. “doc is still busy working on my bad leg, aren’t you doc?”

the color drained from your face when you felt san’s hips resume their thrusts, and you almost fearfully tried to push him away. shaking your head, you tried to stop him and whisper-yell, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to say a word without moaning shakily, so you stayed silent. something neither san, nor coach would let you do.

“is everything okay in there, doc?” coach kim asked, as you squirmed under san, his large palm holding your hip in place under him, and your ankle in place over his shoulder. his thrusts were still quick, aimed to make you and himself cum as soon as possible, whether coach walked in or not.

“answer him.” san’s lips brushed against your ear as he whispered hotly, smug. “you don’t want him to — fuck — come in, would you?”

it was hard to gather the courage to speak without screaming, especially when you opened your mouth, and the asshole above you took that as the exact moment to decide to rub your clit, coughing softly to disguise your noises. “i, uh, — ngh — we’ll be coming! in sometime... just... go on, coach... no need to — stop that! — wait up!”

you blurted between whimpers, trying to swat san’s wandering hands away as he pinched and rubbed all sensitive spots on your body, even dipping down to bite at your clothed nipples. you were still on edge as coach could walk in anytime, but that didn’t bother san. if fact, his hips pistoned into your cervix at a mind-numbing pace, all thoughts blown from your mind.

“you heard the man,” san grunted in your ear. his smooth skin was drenched in sweat, slight red marks left on his shoulders from your nails, and his brows were furrowed in concentration. “we have five minutes to finish.”

you let out a strangled noise when you felt the sudden onslaught of stimulation, his large palms grasping your hips as he fucked you hard. guiding your hips to match his, san made sure his hips were angled to fuck right up into your womb, smirking to himself when he noticed the slight outline of his cock bulging from your stomach. “t-there’s no way... that we can f-finish... in 5 minutes...”

“you wanna bet?” san rasped, forcing his mouth on yours, kissing you deep and slow, his own grunts and sighs barely muffled by his lips. san could feel you tightening around him, hear the breathy, soft pants coming from your lips.

how could he hold himself back when you responded so eagerly?

san pulled his lips away to look down at you, his hand leaving your leg to grasp at your throat, his calloused thumb resting on your jaw, and his grip firm. you looked so good under him like this.

“that’s it, princess,” san groaned, his hips pushing forward, his voice uneven from all the pleasure. he didn’t think he’d last the next 30 seconds, let alone 5 minutes.

but he wouldn’t cum before you. that would almost be insulting, making sure to use his free hand to fondle your swollen clit, bringing you to finish as soon as him.

“san!” you cried out, already feeling your release building. you tried to bite at your knuckles to keep yourself quiet and muffle all the whimpers and gasps that could reach outside the room. your nails dug into his biceps, eyes squeezing shut.

both of you were so close, san’s hips moving more erratically, and your body losing control. your voice was choked and a pitch higher, every noise you made streaming into soft sobs, tears blurring your eyes. you felt too good. “san... i’m gonna...”

san could feel your body trembling, your breathing getting shallower, and when you spoke, it only made him feel closer. he panted, his breath coming out in hot, uneven puffs, his nose rubbing against yours, his hand on your throat tightening.

“go on… squeeze that cunt of yours tight… i’m almost done.”

you didn’t need to be told twice, and when you squeezed so beautifully for him, san lost himself.

he came with a strangled groan, his movements stuttering, his hand squeezing on your throat for a moment. his eyes squeezed shut as white hot pleasure coursed through his veins, his mind blanking out and ears ringing. for a few moments, he thought he saw the pearly white gates of heaven, as he unsteadily pumped ropes after ropes of his hot cum into your pussy.

you could feel your insides being painted white while san grunted curses under his breath, the hot seed almost burning your walls. he made sure to thrust a few more times so his cum filled your insides snugly, fucking it deeper.

your overstimulated whimpers were what bought san back to reality, the ringing in his ears fading as he looked down at you, disheveled and naked waist down, his cock still buried deep in your cunt.

he was momentarily distracted by the sight of your puffy folds wrapped around the base of his cock, a creamy ring of cum around his shaft. he felt himself twitch, just barely suppressing the urge to fold you in a mating press and take you again.

“still hate me?” his voice was slightly strained. san couldn’t find it in himself to pull out yet. his gaze flickered down to your disheveled shirt stretched over your chest, and he couldn’t help but grasp your breast and squeeze. he’d play with them next time.

you were too out of breath to reply or swat his hand away, exhaling shakily as you slowly got down from your high. “i’m still deciding.” you needed a moment, or ten, to get your thoughts in order. “and you didn’t finish in 5 minutes, you took 8.”

“whatever.” san chuckled, nipping your cheek playfully.

he slowly pulled out, his muscles tired. but he wasn’t fast enough. because the next thing you knew, there was a soft click, and the two of you didn’t even have time to freeze, before the break room door swung open.

“san, you little shit, you’re late for — what the fuck!?”

author note: my first smut fic, yay! if this sounds familiar to you, it’s because this plot is heavily inspired by the love of my life, joo jaekyung from the bl manhwa jinx (he’s the best guy around)! please do interact and tell me what you think! also, i made the banner myself so pls show some love if you think it looks nice :3

tag list: @tsukisrants ; @dawn-iscozy ; @vixensss

[joeloverture]

HOOK 'EM PT. 2

hook 'em hot stuff | coach!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | series masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine pairing: college football coach!joel x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] old habits die hard, so they say. you never understood why, but here you are, breaking into coach joel miller's house for a taste of what he's been keeping from you. warnings: (18+ mdni) reader is a bad example (a REALLY bad example), joel is so nonchalant that it's almost crackfic material, getting a semi when a pretty girl attempts a break-in, guilty joel attempts to keep his morals intact (and promptly fails), age gap (22/52), could be considered dubcon by way of power imbalance but consent is enthusiastic, undernegotiated kink for sake of storyline but don't follow this example, explicit content, pussy pronouns, daddy kink, brat tamer!joel, degradation, praise, meanish!joel, pussy slapping, belting/spanking with a belt, body writing, m!masturbation, cumplay/eating, panty play(?), face slapping, orgasm denialish (you'll see) [no use of y/n] word count: 7k (wtf) a/n: howdy. real cowboys never die so i'm back to continue what i started *checks watch* 11 months ago. (i also promised that if they won the game, i'd write this.) again, all of this is for entertainment parody, and any college implied here is incredibly fictionalized. coach!joel captured all of our hearts and he's here in this incredibly out of pocket (so out of pocket it's right) sequel. enjoy 💋

“This is head Coach Miller at Austin. I can’t get to the phone right now, but you can leave a text or a voicemail and I’ll be sure to get back to you–”

The answering message, as it plays through the tinny speakers of your phone, is dry, lackluster. As if Joel hadn’t wanted to record it at all, had said fuck it after the first take. It sounds nothing like the voice that had talked you through two of the best orgasms of your life.

You’d tried to rationalize it at first – he’s busy, a coach at one of the biggest college football programs in the United States, it’s approaching the playoffs, maybe he’s out of state recruiting some shithead high schooler – but after four missed phone calls and two unanswered texts spread out through the course of the week, you figure that’s that.

He’d been so tender with you after fucking your brains out. Dragging a wet rag along the seam of your thighs, redressing you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He’d even refused to let you walk to your dorm alone so late in the night, his guarding, protective arm hanging around your waist as he’d escorted you to the shitty building. Now you’re leaving clingy voicemails in his inbox, staring at a ceiling that’s probably full of asbestos as you try to make peace with the fact that Coach Miller didn’t give a shit about you – only your pussy. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. 

You were probably just some dumb college girl to him, close enough to graduating that he didn’t lose sleep at night over hitting it, but too far from adulthood to complement his crows feet and successful career.

Conclusion: even if it was the best sex of your life, you should’ve hightailed it out of there the second he’d offered to take you over his knee.

Again – you’re not known for making the best decisions.

You roll over on your stomach, burying your head in your arms and shutting your phone off.

The worst part about it all is that you’re fucking horny. Unbearably so. Even just sitting there, you can hear Joel’s filthy words carouseling through your head, that initial groan when he sank all the way inside of you. Your persistent horniness isn’t the only problem, either. Lately, your roommate never seems to leave the dorm, and when she does, you find that Joel has ruined your vibrator for you. Your pussy might just shrivel up if it doesn’t get the loving it deserves. He’d lit a permanent goddamn bonfire in your stomach, and it just so happened that he was the only one with a fire extinguisher. 

But the same guy probably wants nothing to do with you. Probably came to his senses enough to know that everything about fucking his star player’s ex girlfriend is a recipe for bad news in the making.

There’s a version of yourself that doesn’t know when to stop. That’s the version that must be controlling you as you reach for your phone, opening up a new search. ‘Where does joel miller live?’ And, theoretically, you could stop right there, press the tempting little ‘x’ at the top of the screen and pretend that your mind hadn’t even gotten that far, that desperate. Instead, you click on the first article that appears: Miller’s new $1,000,000 Tarrytown home.

You could even stop there. Tarrytown isn’t a place for someone like you, waist-deep in student loans that need paying off. Tarrytown is wealthy and upscale, pretentious and genteel. In fact, you’d only passed through there once, almost blackout drunk in the backseat of your only sober friend’s car. You’d nearly jumped out of your goddamn skin upon seeing a roaming peacock with its feathers all spread, clucking through the street in search of a mate. She’s teased you about it ever since, but with what you have in mind, you’re about to be impersonating that peacock. 

Knowing that the bastard lives in Tarrytown would usually be enough to put you off — if it were anyone else. Your ‘eat the rich’ values apparently stutter when there’s a chance of getting your pussy eaten.

Curiosity kills the cat, and so you poke around Zillow for recent sales in Tarrytown. Lucky for you, only one fits the description in the article. It’s multi-story, built on a half acre behind a centuries-old oak tree. And going for the hefty price of $1,002,358.

Nine minutes away. A good commute. Gated, and probably for good reason, considering what you’re about to do.

You throw on a nice, lacy set underneath your black clothes and top it all off with a black baseball cap. You’re pretty sure it’s Lucas’s, your shitty ex’s that had technically started this whole mess, but you can’t be too sure.

You don’t tell your roommate where you’re going, just that if everything goes well, you won’t be back until tomorrow morning.

You chain your bike to a lamppost, and it sticks out like a sore thumb on the cobblestone sidewalk. Even though you’ve already seen the pictures, Joel’s house is hardly even a house. It’s a fucking palace with windows for walls and a vaulted roof. Everything is stacked on top of each other, and the oak tree mentioned in the listing casts a shadow along the structure. The gas lamps adorning the gated limestone archway are on, and the flames wince across the concrete path leading into the home. They aren’t bright enough to blow your cover if Joel happens to peek through the many, many windows, but you steer clear of them regardless.

The gate really isn’t that tall, only about eight feet off the ground. A nearby sturdy tree gives you a good place to prop yourself up as you haul yourself over it and into a well-kept patch of ferns. You roll into the dirt, grunting as you almost fall flat on your ass. Your elbows catch you at the last second, and you take a few deep breaths.

You dust yourself off, squinting through the front of the house in hopes of catching a glimpse at him. He’s definitely home, and probably away, too, judging by the amount of lights that are on. Still, no sign of him. All football coaches have to be a workaholic. You wouldn’t be surprised at all if he was in his home office with his feet propped up, watching tapes of his opponents to prepare for the next game.

Good. Less chance of him seeing you right away.

Joel seems like the type of guy to subscribe to the ‘fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,’ philosophy, so it makes sense that both of his garages are closed. You half-crawl, half-crouch your way through the front yard, careful not to crush any more of his plants as you creep your way up the front steps. You give his front door a shot. Locked, too.

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself. You inch through the brush, turning the corner of the house and taking cover behind his rumbling air conditioning unit so you can scan the back patio.

Of course Joel Miller has a pool. And you’d bet good money that he never uses it. There’s an unlit fire pit surrounded by a sunken seating area nearby, and you slink through the area to make your way over to the terrace. Your hand reaches out for the doorknob, but it doesn’t even get there before you’re eating shit for the second time that night.

A body slams into yours as you hit the ground with a cry, your shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as concrete scrapes at your palms. Even though it’s dark and everything feels like you’re trapped in a kaleidoscope, you’d have to be an idiot not to recognize the familiar weight pressing into you. Strong thighs wrap around yours. Calloused hands grab at your wrists, effortlessly pinning them over your head. You squirm, trying and failing to knee at the small of his back.

You should be scared, terrified, maybe, of what he could do to you. Push you into the pool and tell you to fuck right off at best, call the cops and have you arrested for two counts of trespassing at worst. But instead, all you can think about is the insistent press of his bulge between your legs, his broad shoulders hanging over your torso, his long fingers twisted around your hands. All of it renders your heart racing and your body motionless. You look up at him, unable to stop yourself from eye fucking him. Loungewear is a good look on him, gray sweatpants low on his waist and a tattered longhorns t-shirt. He has his reading glasses on, and fuck, if it doesn’t do something to you.

A tiny whimper slips out, and, naturally, that’s when Joel’s dark eyes flash with recognition.

Joel mutters your name, surprise thick in his tired voice. “What the hell are you doin’ in my backyard?” He goes back on his haunches and lets go of your hands. You rub at the sore spots he’d left in his wake.

You don’t answer, opting to look away to hide the shame that’s plain as day on your face. This was stupid. You’re so fucking stupid.

“Are you always tryna catch a charge?” Joel asks. He shakes his head at you, forehead wrinkling as he furrows his brows. All you can do is nod in response. “Un-fuckin’-believable.”

He finally lifts off of you, groaning as something in his back pops when he stands upright. He reaches down at you, and, stubbornly, you ignore his hand in favor of picking yourself up. You dust yourself off again, winching as you brush against a patch of skin that’s sure to bruise later.

“C’mon,” Joel says, nudging the back door open. You step inside and pause to wipe your shoes on the rug beyond the threshold.

The interior is also just as fancy as the Zillow photos had suggested. You find yourself in a lounge with a vaulted ceiling, surprised to find just how Joel the space is. There’s sports magazines on the coffee table and a half-empty longhorns tumbler filled with black coffee. The TV on the mantle of the fireplace is playing a rerun of a Dallas Cowboys game, surrounded by memorabilia like an unmarked high school football helmet, probably a souvenir from his varsity career.

“Now, what’s got your panties in a twist?”

“You didn’t answer my texts,” you say, albeit a little dumbly. You rub at one of your elbows to try to shake off the embarrassment.

Okay, aloud, it does sound just a teensy bit like an overreaction.

Joel blinks at you. Takes off his reading glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, releases a long, winded sigh. “Shit – hun, I’m so sorry–”

“Save your sorries,” you spit back, suddenly angry of all things. Angry that he has you wrapped right around the same fingers that had been inside of you, angry that he hadn’t answered your calls, your texts, your voicemails, angry that he has the audacity to ask what happened. “All that talk about treating me right and you can’t even pick up the fucking phone. I’ll leave right now if you’re not interested, but the least you could do is let me know.” Your lower lip quivers.

He goes quiet, toeing at the ground. His hands land on his hips. “Darlin’–”

“He cheated on me and you trampled all over my emotional vulnerability so you could get your dick wet. How the fuck does that make you any better than the boys you promised to be better than? You’re just like them. Fucking your way through half of the campus and nothing to show for it.” You’re breathing heavily as your eyes burn more and more by the second. You keep thinking you’ll have more to say, but you don’t. Everything in your body feels like lead, and time moves like molasses. Only silence meets you. Of course, it’d end like this. You, humiliated, and him, held all but unaccountable for his actions.

You squeeze your eyes shut before turning around on your heel to leave the way you’d come. His hand, soft and guiding as opposed to the last time he’d touched you, wraps around your forearm. You plant your feet in the ground, but still don’t turn around to face him. “You’re right,” Joel says, voice acquiescent. “It wasn’t fair to you. But ‘s part of why I didn’t pick up. Ain’t right, you ‘n me. I took advantage of you. Practically coerced you.” You swallow, but it’s like swallowing needles. “You shoulda reported me the second you got back to your dorm. For… for violating you like that.” He damn near spits the word out like it’s poisonous. Violating.

If that’s what’s holding him back…

You shift, facing him. He scratches the back of his neck. His flush bleeds down to his chest. “Joel, the absolute last thing you did was violate me. I wanted it. Haven’t stopped fucking thinking about it. That’s why it hurt so bad when you left me hanging.” A frown pinches your lips. “You could’ve at least let me know, Joel.”

“You needa quit thinkin’ about it. Ain’t gonna do either of us any good.” He exhales. “Besides. Even if I wanted to reach out, I’ve been workin’ 17 hour days in prep for next week’s game. This is the first day I’ve had peace ‘n quiet since we…” He trails off, cheeks somehow reddening even more. 

“How often do you do that?” you can’t stop yourself from asking.

“Do what?” he asks, his own lips falling into a frown. He looks a little bit like a kicked puppy, being on the receiving end of your confrontation.

“Take girls half your age over your knee at the workplace. Let them call you ‘daddy’ while they squirm in your lap. Fuck them?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and hisses. You can almost see the memories flashing behind his eyelids. “Gotta stop talkin’ like that, hun.”

“No,” you say, voice quiet. “Really. How often?”

“Never,” he says, and he sounds sincere. “Been over a year since I was last with someone. Been a whole lot longer since it… felt that good.”

You take a step closer to him, tongue slipping out to lick your lips. “Felt good for me, too.”

He shakes his head, still denying what you’re laying out so plainly for him. “Just ‘cause it feels good don’t make it right.”

“Doesn’t it?” you ask. You cock your head, brows brought together and eyes round with want.

He takes a slow, unsteady breath. But he doesn’t step away.

“I’m an adult Joel.” You reach out to him. Again, he doesn’t step away. Your hand flattens against his shoulder.

“Not one of your brutish, sweaty players who only thinks in frat vocab.” You drag your palm down from his shoulder, across his chest, fluttering along his stomach.

His eyes close as your thumb snags the waistband of his sweatpants. Still, he doesn’t intervene. “I’m a grown woman with a future ahead of myself. It’s not in the handbook that you’re forbidden from engaging in this sort of thing with a student, so long as they’re not one of your players.”

“Yeah, yeah, I read the handbook, kid—”

When you palm at his bulge, he’s already hard.

You hitch a brow at him. A snide remark sits on your tongue.

“Shut the fuck up,” he grouses, and then shoves you back on his couch. Your impact knocks a tacky, tasseled throw pillow out of the way. You yank off the cap you stole from Lucas and toss it over your shoulder.

“Beggin’ for a dickin’ down,” he says. “Trespassing on my fucking property for it like some lunatic. That’s how bad you need this cock?”

You nod like you’ve forgotten how to do anything else. With how you act when you think of Joel, that’s… probably the case. “Joel, plea–”

He slaps you across the face. Your vision pixelates and your head rings, but the handprint blooming on your cheek translates to slick blooming in your panties. “Nuh uh,” he says. “You know my name, smartass.” You moan, hips jerking to meet his.

“Daddy,” you whine. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about.” It is. No silicone toy or plastic cock nestled in your bedroom drawer compared to the man in front of you — and you’d know. You tried them all.  

“Ain’t a surprise there,” Joel says. “Bet you’ve been rubbin’ yourself silly thinking of your daddy, mm?”

“Yes!” you damn near squeal out as Joel roughly palms at your tits. You get stuck in the labyrinth of your shirt as you fumble out of it, arms finding all the wrong holes. Finally, you toss the thoroughly wrinkled scrap of fabric over the couch. “Every day, sometimes more,” you admit, because it’s the embarrassing truth. When it comes to him, you’re loopy, off-kilter, teetering with desire and want.

“Dirty girl, aren’t you?” he says, unclasping your bra. He lures your arms out of the straps. His throat bobs as he eyes you up. Based on how you look in the reflection of his dark eyes, he’s been thinking of this. Because for all his virtuosity, Coach Miller crumbles at the thought of defiling you. And he damns himself for it.

He says, “Came allllll the way over here to get fucked in this little number. Why, ‘cause your fingers ain’t enough anymore? Buzzing buddies not doin’ it for ya? Can’t make yourself come without me, hm?” 

“No, no, I can’t—” you exhale at him, desperately arching your back to push your tits into his sports-calloused hands. He gives you nipples a squeeze and twist, and it’s electricity straight into your clit. Your squirm, legs kicking helplessly beneath him. “Daddy.”

He pouts at you. “Damn shame. Creamy, drippy little pussy like this…” You hadn’t noticed his hand lowering until he cups a hand around your clothed mound. Your hips jerk. “Bet she’s squeezing real good ‘round nothing, isn’t she? Wants to take daddy nice ‘n deep.”

“Please, daddy, I want you to fuck me,” you gasp out. Your head lolls back as his thumb presses over your clothed clit, the friction from your panties amplifying the sensation as he rubs you in tight, successive circles.

“Yeah, well that’s what you want. What you’ve earned is a belting. Hell, maybe even a paddling for a repeat offender like yourself. Gotta stop getting into scenarios where I needa spank you right. Clearly didn’t whack ya hard enough last time, girl.”

You pout at him, and he only rolls his eyes. “Really. First you had some revenge syndrome, and now you have dick disease. Have to make you earn it, sweetie. ‘Specially when you keep on diggin’ your own grave.”

“You spanked me last time we did this,” you mumble.

“Oh yeah? And I remember you leakin’ everywhere like a goddamn busted pipe. So shut your trap and bend over for me, mhm? I know this pussy likes when I’m rough with ‘er. Know you like it.”

You cross your arms. Consider leaving chin-up with your pride intact — not out of lack of interest, but out of stubbornness. But you can already feel your wetness smearing across your thighs. Not only did you come all this way hoping for this exact thing, but you can imagine just how uncomfortable the bike ride back to your dorm will be with the seat of your bike pressed into your crotch.

You bite the bullet and toss a pillow to the floor. You fold yourself over the couch.

It feels distinctly familiar and indistinctly unfamiliar. Just a few days ago, he’d hauled you over his knee for the same reason. Attraction lit like a match, and discipline served properly.

You hear Joel shimmying around in the vicinity and tilt your head to look at him. First, you’re captured by the broadness of him, how he can easily manhandle you with his stature. But it’s hard not to be distracted by how his house, for all of its grandeur, is little more than a fifty-year-olds bachelor pad.

The walls are mostly bare apart from the occasional art that looks like he snagged from Homegoods. Everything is so modern and brutalistic, all sharp-edged and cubed. “You need to hire an interior designer with that batshit crazy salary of yours,” you tell him.

He huffs out a half-laugh, and returns to your side with a belt he pulled from the table. You squint at the buckle. It’s a pewter longhorn. Of course. It’s like they have a longhorn fetish. They just can’t shake the obsession with the cattle.

“Gonna spank me with your livestock whip?” you snort. 

Joel stares you down, unimpressed. “You think you’re funny,” he says. He sits next to where your cheek rests on the couch and gently rubs a circle into your back. His face turns serious for a moment. “I know I didn’t verbally establish this last time — and that’s on me — but you can ask me to stop any time. I hope you know that.”

You give him what feels like a bit of a dopey look. “I know, daddy. I know my limits, too.”

“Attagirl,” he says, patting you on the back. He gives you a look, seeking permission, and you nod. He tugs your pants down. They slump to your folded knees. You tap your fingers against the soft material of the couch. Joel reaches over you and under the gusset of your panties, swiping a long, thick finger through your weeping cunt. Your hips rock, chasing the sensation, and as if reprimanding you, Joel gives a swift tug to the back of your panties, lodging them deep within your cheeks. You squeak in surprise and stop your squirming. He chuckles breathlessly above you.

“Still got this… calligraphy… ‘a mine all over your ass.” He traces his thumb along each letter of the trophy he’d left you. The w, the h, the o, the r, the e. When you left the stadium that night, it was with a reminder of exactly what Joel thinks of you. “‘S like you’re tryna make it last, mmm? You like knowing you’re my whore?” 

A tiny whimper splits from your mouth, forehead tilting into the crook of your shoulder as to hide your face. You manage a nod.

“Nuh uh,” Joel says. He reaches for your wrists and pins them behind your back. “Thought you’d knew better than to be repeatin’ the same song and dance. I know you can behave, slutty girl. Just gotta give you a nudge in the right direction.” He palms your ass cheek the same way he’d palmed your tit, and a chill travels along your skin at the perceived feeling of him being so close to your cunt.

He’d ravaged and ruined you, and you walked right back in to let him do it all over again.

Joel folds the belt in half, the gaudy buckle clanking as he turns his day-to-day belt into the perfect implement to administer your punishment. You muffle one of your noises as he drags the leather along your skin, raising gooseflesh in his trail. You can tell he’s tracing the letters, stretched and faded to near-obscurity, along your ass.

You expect him to bring it down across your ass, but instead, he teases it between your legs. Your breath stumbles over your teeth as the leather streaks along your clothed clit. Your hips chase the passing sensation, and the bastard snorts at you. In spite of Joel’s grasp around your wrists, your fingers twirl in anticipation.

“Pathetic ‘lil pussy. Dripping and squeezing even if you’ve got a thrashing comin’ up. Maybe it’s because you’ve got a thrashing coming up. Masochistic mess over here.”

You scoff, “Yeah, and a hot mess, if ‘Lil Joel is any indicator.”

The first hit takes you by surprise. Leather erupts across your ass cheeks, and your fingers scramble for purchase — impossible to find, with how Joel grips your wrists. You make a surprised noise, head tipping to knock your forehead into his thigh. “Shit, were you the quarterback? Packing a punch this time, Coa— mmph.” Your trailing, pathetic sound is muffled by the abrupt splat of his belt back on your exposed ass.

“Had enough ‘a your sass, baby. Can’t be giving me lip when your other set is salivatin’ all over my floor.”

You grunt, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t glare at him. Dick. Fever licks up your spine. It wraps around your neck, making you lightheaded and nebulous with want. Arousal leaks down your inner thighs. When you press them together in hopes for relief and that Joel’s old man eyes will sabotage him, you’re not shocked by the next thwack of leather against your skin. It still makes you jolt.

“Not gettin’ away with that, sweetheart. Better not see ya ruttin’ against this couch either. Already had to scrub down the one in the locker room since you sprayed your pussy juices all over it like a sprinkler.”

“Yes, daddy,” you grumble. He raises a brow at you, face stern and hard.

You make up for it not verbally, but by arching your back and wiggling your hips. A willing participant in your own demise. It’s only a matter of time before the anaphora of Joel’s belt whacking against your ass has you keening for his cock. You’ve already begged for it every night this week — just with your own hand fishing between your legs for an orgasm you can’t seem to catch, and with his name glued to your pillowcase with your drool.  

“See? That’s more like it.” You press back into him as his hand lets go of your wrists. It’s a brief respite, and you cling to the edge of the couch as his hand traces down your back, cupping your ass. Your eyes roll back as his finger slips past your panties and prods at your entrance, barely half of a knuckle.

“Daddy,” you pout.

“Sweet… as…” You look up through lidded eyes at him. Watch as your slick stretches hammocks between his fingers. Watch him slide them into his mouth, sucking them clean with an audible pop. You cunt clenches, demanding something that he doesn’t seem eager to dish out. “sugar.” he finishes. His fingers glisten.

“Daddy,” you say again. Needier this time. Longing. Wanting.

“Bet you could come untouched from this shit, couldn’t ya?”

The thought makes you shiver, but you shake your head back and forth fast enough to give you whiplash. You want — need him to touch you.

“Aww, poor little thing wants to come?” he all but coos at you. This time, you nod fast enough to take your own head off. “Too bad.”

You squeal as he brings the belt down again, toes wriggling as if they can run away from how electrified your body is. “W-what?” you choke out.  

“You want daddy to let you come?”

Your hands fist into the couch cushion. “The fuck do you think?”

You don’t even see him move before you feel the belt, ripping like lightning along your inflamed skin. “After you snuck into my stadium?”

“After you vandalized one ‘a our new uniforms?”

You’ve tensed this time in preparation, but it’s not enough. The next swing of his arm has you crying out. Your pussy clenches and more wetness gushes from you. “Ungh, Daddy!”

“After you came snoopin’ around like the Pink Panther?” Two lashings, for that. Both in rapid succession, crackling flames along your hypersensitive skin. You don’t even have time to give him snark. You wail, and half of it jerks out of you in a ragged moan.

He’s too quick at giving your ass another lash. “After being a cock hungry temptress who’d do anything to get that drippy ‘lil hole between her legs stuffed?”

If you were sore after your first encounter with the man, you fear for your capability to sit after this one. “I’m sorry!” You sniffle a little, and while your eyes may be watering, you squeeze your eyes shut so not to cry. It’s embarrassing enough to be laid out in front of him like this, quivering with juices weeping down your legs.

“Cute,” Joel snorts. “Sorry for what, exactly? Bet you got a laundry list of misdeeds. Risqué little girl like you, so quick to put her ass up in the air and take a beating insteada owin’ up to her mistakes.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp out. “F-For breaking in.” You frown. “...Twice.”

“Coulda had you in the slammer by now, girl. But no. You just want me, dontcha? All up in your guts…” He grabs your ass cheek and squeezes, kneading the flesh there and leaving it with a shrill slap. You whimper. “Whallopin’ this pretty little peach. Sortin’ you out. Bein’ your daddy.” He grips the inside of your thigh, nudging your legs further apart. His hand, large and ridged with callouses, travels up your knee, over your thigh, down to your core. You shudder.

“Daddy…” you plead. You tilt your head and look up at him properly. How he looms over you, his free hand wrapped around your opposite shoulder so he can hold your side against his thigh. A tiny smirk quirks his lips, and his nose crinkles. There’s a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. “Please.” Your voice comes out as a lust-thickened whisper, bittersweet like molasses.

You think he might throw you a bone. Might thrust a finger or two into your dripping heat, which throbs and has a heartbeat of its own whenever he’s around. Instead, he slaps your mound. Your clit twitches, and you stream slick onto his hand. “Ah! Daddy!”

“Drippin’ like a busted pipe, baby. All from bein’ tossed around a bit.”

You’re floating, now. Or perhaps a more apt way to describe it would be that you’re firmly planted on the ground — just facedown while the room spins and spins and spins.

“Honestly, I didn’t know this elite university admitted little sluts like yourself. Bet you hold yourself all prim and proper while you’re all academic during the day. Then you get home and, what, rub yourself silly? Spank yourself because you know you deserve it? You wanna get split open on this cock, roughed up, talked down to.”

“I do, Daddy, I do!” you whine. “I told you — I’m sorry! For all of it. Please, I want whatever you’ll give me. A-Anything.” You feel as if your bones are matches, each one lit up in a chain reaction all the way to your core, which melts and melts down the insides of your thighs. “I’ll do—”

“Anything, baby?”

You nod eagerly, your moistened lower lip jutting out.

“Alright, alright,” he says. His voice is calmer now. Steady. He pats you on the ass softer this time and taps the couch next to him. You scramble up on the cushions, kicking off your shoes and pants in the process, and lay back. Your fingers twitch with the desire to just touch him. From this angle, you can see the definition of his bulge in his sweats. You remember how all of him felt inside of you, as if your entire body had to reshape itself around him, had to make room for the amount of space he occupies. He tosses his belt onto the coffee table.

Your cunt is a kickdrum between your legs. Juices dribble down the creases of your thighs, and for a moment, you fear that you’re actually ruining another couch of his. If you are, he doesn’t say. Just hitches his waistbands down and —

You audibly moan.

“Slutty ‘lil whore,” he says as he takes his fat cock in hand. Precum beads at the tip, and you find yourself licking your lips. You salivate at the sight of him. The heavy balls hanging low beneath his cock, his girth, and the taut, tan skin of his thighs. He’s enrapturing.

“You’re cute, baby,” he says, but the words are condescending. That’s probably why it makes you drip. “You look real good with them ‘fuck me daddy’ eyes. Maybe they’re jus’ that glossy ‘cause your ass is still stingin’. But you deserve it, dontcha? For wanting it?”

“Yes sir…” His eyes flash with something narrowly close to possession. Your teeth dig into your lower lip. With his free hand, he reaches up to your lips, pulling down your bottom lip and running his tongue along the seam of it. You take it upon yourself to suckle on his thumb, tongue swirling around the rough pad of his fingertip. Your tiny moan buzzes around the digit. “Mmph.”

Joel’s eyes, dark and dilated, trail up your exposed form. “I’d shove my cock down that tight throat of yours, but you ain’t earned it.” His hand drags down your chest, tugging and groping at bare skin. His wet thumb plucks at your nipple. Your hips hitch, grinding against thin air. Joel tuts. “Thought I whipped some sense into ya. Or some goddamn manners, at least.” His hand leaves your chest and pins one of your thighs to the couch. You squirm.

“Daddy,” you mewl. “I need – something.”

“Daddy,” Joel mocks in a high-pitched, imitated whine of your plea. “You stay right still. You’re fortunate enough I’m letting you watch.”

It’s then that you realize what he’s planning to do. Deprive you by jerking himself off all over you.

“No, no, please– I promise I’ll be good! I’ll be good, please, I n-need your co–”

Joel slaps you across the face. Again. This time, it’s harder, enough for your head to roll to the side and your eyes to roll back. Your cunt throbs. Your hearing clangs like windchimes. “Do not whine at me like a petulant child. You’re a damn lucky duck that I ain’t knocked you on your ass for all the shit you been pullin’. So you’ll sit there, and if I see you raise so much as a fuckin’ hair on your head to touch yourself, I ain’t afraid to spank that pussy raw, too. Bet you wouldn’t be touchin’ it if it was all sore and achy.”

You look down and give a small, half-nod.

“Go on. Be a good girl and ask for it,” Joel says, brow hitched. Self-righteous bastard.

You mumble something faintly under your breath.

“Wanna repeat that, baby?”

“Jerk your cock off on my pussy, daddy,” you whimper out, hips still squirming on the couch.

“Mmm, that’s more like it.”

Joel taps his cock against your clothed clit. A warning, almost. “Ngh, daddy, I–”

“Don’t start,” he scowls and inches back a bit. Then, he wraps his hand around his cock and gives himself a languid pump. He groans, eyes going lidded as he starts up at a steady pace. 

“I was going to say… I want you to come on me.” You take heavy, labored breaths, matching the rapid rise and fall of Joel’s chest. Sweat is darkening the creases of his shirt as he works himself. 

“Yeah? Ain’t a surprise, there. Filthy slut wants daddy’s come all over her pussy? Gonna walk back to your dorm with it dryin’ on your undies?” You’ll make fun of him for that later. But now, all you can do is nod at him. ��Or maybe I’ll stuff ‘em in your smart mouth. See how ya feel when you can taste how much of a whore you are.”

You gasp, back arching even though there’s no pleasure for you to chase. He gets off on this. On denying you. Degrading you. It’s a high like nothing else. “Please, I– I want you to stuff them in my mouth–”

Joel hisses. You see his cock twitch in his fist. “Make you walk home all leaky and wanting, just like a hussy should? For all those fits you’ve been pitchin’?” He grunts as his hips roll to meet each wet thrust of his fist. His lips are parted, head hung while he stares at your soaked pussy. How your panties cling to your folds. He moans, thumb brushing over his tip. More precum drips from the head, trailing down his wrist. His back curves inwards as he leans closer to you.

He squeezes the hand he’s got wrapped around your leg. “Daddy, daddy!” He’s close, you can tell. Each breath he takes is short and rasping. Each thrust gets clumsier. You think you could come from this alone. The image of him, huffing and red-faced while he fucks his fist right in front of you and calls you names. “Come on me, please, I want to be covered in you–”

He moans, and his cock jolts in his tight grip. “I’m comin’, baby, I’m comin’.”

Ropes of his cum sprays on the gusset of your panties, once, twice, but before the third spirit, he wraps his hand through the leg holes of your panties and tugs up. You make a choked, frazzled moan, and maybe it’s the way the fabric pinches your clit, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you as if you were made to be devoured. Maybe it’s just how pent up you are.

You tense and then shatter in one go, your orgasm gushing into your panties. Seizing, your back arches up off of the couch as one of your palms clambers for purchase over his. “Fuck, daddy,” you moan pathetically, hips thudding against the couch while you rock into the taut fabric. You fall back, limp and reeling. 

“Fuck,” Joel says, breathless. He stares at where your white-stained panties steep in your convulsing cunt, how more juice seeps out of them with each clench of your wrecked pussy. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm. “Really are a nasty girl. A little pain slut, aren’t ya baby?” His eyes glitter while he looks at you, and you imagine he must be close enough to getting hard again that he can’t come through on his promises of anger.

“Roll over for me,” he says, tapping your thigh. 

“Mmph?” You say, arm thrown over your forehead. Your eyes squeeze shut while the aftershocks hurdle through your muscles. “Oh, yeah.” You fumble, and your sweat-slick skin sticks to the couch as you turn yourself over. 

You hear a little pop, and can’t help but look over your shoulder. Of course. A Sharpie. This time, it’s gold.

“Gonna get a reputation, Miller,” you smirk at him, kicking your feet while he situates himself between your knees. He tugs your soiled panties off, and, as promised, guides the gusset to your mouth. You suck on it, eyes fluttering as you savor the conjoined musk of your mingling juices. It’s tart, but a little sweet. You feel the marker tugging at your ass, and hiss a little when he traces over a particularly sore spot.

“Yeah, well you already got one. I’m just makin’ sure you don’t forget.” He gives your ass another smack when he’s done, and you squeak. The couch stops slumping, and he pads across the room.

You stay there, head rested into your elbows and panties hanging out of your mouth while he rummages around in the vicinity. He comes back with some aloe gel. Gentle, he removes your panties from your tongue and tosses them on the table. You lick your lips, giving him a knowing look. He only rolls his eyes as he massages it into your bruised skin.

“Went a little hard on you this time, darlin’,” he says after a few moments of comfortable silence.

“I liked it,” you say.

“Yeah, I noticed.” He pats you dry. “If you got any ice packs back in your minifridge, wait a while before you ice that. Gotta let the skin repair for a day or so.”

“Aye-aye,” you say before rolling over to face him again. He’s tugged his sweats back on, but he’s golden with a post-sex glaze, a glow of sweat and contentedness. 

“‘M sorry,” he says again.

Your brows pucker. “I already told you, I lik-”

“No, for how I treated ya. Ain’t right to promise you somethin’ I can’t give ya.”

“You just gave it to me. Quite well, might I add,” you tease with a cloying grin.

“I can’t take you out,” he says. Your grin slips. He drags a hand down his face. “Everyone in this fuckin’ state, everyone in the goddamn south, even, knows who I am. Imagine the shit they’d say. Lucas–”

“Is a dick,” you say.

“Is a dick, but is also my kid. My mentee. The future of this team and my career, too. And even though he might be an asshole, he’s a good throw. Not to mention the three decades b’tween us. Not a good look, ‘specially for you. You got a whole world ahead ‘a ya. I can’t take that from you just ‘cause we have good sex.”

“So let’s just keep having good sex,” you say. “It’s the simplest thing in the world.”

“Yeah,” Joel says with a roll of his eyes. “Simple.” But then he seems to look like he’s thinking about it. Properly. He swallows. Crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Fine.”

“Really?” You say, brows raised. You’re surprised that worked.

“Want me to take it back?”

“No,” you say.

He simpers. “Thought so. Now c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He beckons you down the hallway after him, and you scoop your long-abandoned clothes off the floor. 

A smarter version of yourself would agree with him. But this version of yourself, the version that hopped his fence tonight, wants nothing more than to run back to the throttle of his hand and the loosening of his belt.

That version of yourself is the one who follows him down the hall.

[narcjsistx]

— 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄?, 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒... | sae, kaiser, rin

SAE ITOSHI - for me, you never left

... wish you'd let me stay, i'm ready now 🎶

It was complicated for you to explain your relationship with the prodigy of Japan, the one who most commonly for you was Sae. Everyone looked at him for what he actually was, that is, the lethal midfielder of ReAl, the ace who refused to play for his country; but to you, he was simply the boy your father coached on your prefecture's soccer team. It had always been like this, even now that he had no longer lived in Japan for some years, even now that the crush you had kept secret from him for practically always was finally getting over you after years of suffering

You knew he had cut ties with everyone, from his Japanese teammates to his family, but nothing had ever changed with you. From the first day he arrived in Spain until today, your relationship had never had any problems: you spoke every day, called, everything. For you, Sae Itoshi had never left the another country to pursue his dream

He was jealous of you, even though he never admitted it. He was jealous if you told him that Rin had helped you repeat english that day, if you told him that a boy from your school had left a note in your locker on Valentine's Day. He didn't admit it, but you knew his habits, and you noticed

In fact, you could say that on the one hand your relationship had changed, but you couldn't say whether in a good way or not: your intimacy with each other. You didn't even know why Sae often called you at night, the black circles under his eyes that you immediately noticed, but he had never dared to tell you the reason for all this tiredness that was reflected on his body

"I'm damn tired of studying. In less than a few months I'll finally finish the session tho"

"You could come to Spain"

"I don't have the money to do it, you know. I would have to pay for the place and airfare"

“I simply asked you if you would like to come. I didn't mention money"

"As if you paid me everything"

"And that's what I'll do. I want to see you here in a month, understood?"

These were not gestures that friends made, especially considering the large sum of money involved, a sum that you would not have been able to pay him back even if you had worked all your life. Yet he wanted you there, to see you after a long time. Maybe your crush on him hadn't definitively passed, now that you were about to sleep in the same bed as him due to the arrangement he had made for you

MICHEAL KAISER - my first in everything

... face it, you want it, you crave it 🎶

It's not normal to be so physically attached to the one who was always the child who shoplifted from your mother's shop, all those years ago: it's not normal that he was your first kiss, your first serious fight, your first time. It is not normal that a person with whom you shared such things is not your boyfriend. And even less normal that he refuses human contact with everyone except you

You had decided together to share these important steps together, saying that you would never trust another to do something so important. And you never regretted it

But Micheal has always been like this, since he was a child: he started to hate physical contact right away, but with you he never had any problems taking your hand, hugging you, lifting your chin when you kept your gaze down. Him, who hates it when even Ness touches his shoulder, having no problem yelling at him

But with you Kaiser cried until dawn in your arms, so many times that you struggle to remember the exact number. With you he never had any problems treating you as if you were his wife, even though you weren't even his girlfriend. With you he never had any problems wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing you, making you decide which arm he should get his tattoo on. With you he has never been any problem in treating you as if you were his precious diamond, his impossible but possible blue rose. With you, it's always yes

"Every time I remember crying in your arms I feel like a piece of shit, absolutely pathetic. Yet I'm in your arms, and so I feel a little less sorry"

"I'm sorry when you can't vent, however. I would like to help you more often"

"You talk like you're not the only one I cry to. Maybe you're as pathetic as me, but I like it, you don't know how much. Continue to be, continue to be beautiful and a good girl for me, yeah?"

His team, Ness, his fans, everyone thought you were already a couple. You were, more or less, or at least the gestures represented this... but you had never talked about it, never

Yet, you wondered if you were really just friends, because friends don't end up in each other's bed at least once a month. Maybe you weren't friends, maybe he wasn't ready, maybe you weren't ready

Maybe he wasn't ready to tell you that you were always the one, from the first moment he laid his eyes on you. Maybe you weren't ready to tell him that you loved him. Maybe you were both simply afraid to tell the truth for fear that the other would take it badly. But you wanted and craved it

RIN ITOSHI - dating, but my heart is yours

... just tell me what you're doing with that other guy 🎶

After having dreamed all your life of becoming the girlfriend of Rin Itoshi, the genius of the school and the prefecture, you didn't know why you found yourself squeezing Nagi Seishiro's hand as you walked through the corridors. Even after confessing to Rin, you were now dating to none other than the lazy genius, your brother's best friend. And you were happy, more or less

You knew Rin from your shared classes, plus he had been playing in the field right below your class for a long time, giving you the chance to observe him a lot more. And so, you soon found yourself falling in love with him, perhaps a little too much for your brother's tastes, who however never said he was against it. You and Rin looked at each other often, both in the hallways and during class. Often his hand lingered a little too long on yours when he showed you how to write that particular word in english, perhaps feeling his hand on your thigh a few times during lessons was like dying and ending up in heaven

Maybe it wasn't normal for him to wait for you at the end of class to walk from your class to the gate together. Maybe it wasn't normal that he gave you his jersey with his name written on it

And at a certain point, you declared yourself. And you had kissed, but from that moment on neither of you had dared to do anything else. This way you understood that he wasn't really interested, otherwise he would have given you confirmation that he was your boyfriend... right?

And so a few months later, you had agreed to go on a date with Nagi, and you started to like him, you couldn't say otherwise: as lazy as he was, he was extremely sweet to you. And so you had decided to make it official, especially knowing that Reo would be happy about it

But making it official means saying it, proving it, even to the boy who nevertheless occupied a part of your heart that you knew Nagi couldn't occupy

But Rin had already noticed it for a while

"Are you happy? With him, I mean"

"I am. I certainly am"

"I'm happy about it. Enjoy this feeling"

"You say it like you don't know that I love you"

"And you act like you don't know how I feel"

Nagi was stable, maybe one day he could even become your husband if he continued to be so sweet; and honestly, you didn't mind the idea. But Rin had been making your heart unstable for years, even in moments when you thought you had everything under control, moments like this

And the feeling of adventure was something the lazy genius you knew couldn't give you, neither now nor when married, if it ever happened

this shit is so ass im gonna cry (i want to delete it)

[topazadine]

Avoiding therapy speak in writing

I think we all know by now that therapy speak is irritating and unrealistic, especially if you are writing in a fantasy world that doesn't even have modern psychology.

Part of the reason that it is so annoying is that it is the definition of telling instead of showing: characters are just plainly informing us of their feelings rather than making us work for a better understanding. It's cheap and boring. Instead of making your characters seem like complex individuals with their own hangups and difficulties, they seem like plot points programmed to tell us things.

But obviously, you want to put these people in situations and have them talk about it! How do you do that without sounding maudlin? Here are some options.

Listen to real arguments/conversations

I cannot stress enough how important it is to listen to how actual real human beings talk to each other during heightened emotional states. They don't have to be nasty abusers, and they don't have to be perfect angels, just everyday people doing their normal thing.

Of course, I'd hope you're not seeing people argue all the time, but if you do happen to see it, listen carefully and notice how people actually address their problems. Think back to tough conversations that you have had, even if you wouldn't classify them as arguments. Consider how people acted and reacted to one another. Notice how normal humans talk about issues outside of therapy, even intelligent and emotionally evolved people.

I've had years of therapy, and even I do not talk in therapy ways about my issues when I'm talking to my family or friends. It just feels cheesy and fake outside of that particular setting - plus, it freaks other people out and can seem kind of manipulative. Try talking like that in a real conversation and see how uncomfortable it is. You'll understand why avoiding therapy speak is important.

Consider the character's own hangups

Just as everyone has their own unique speaking style and mindset, so do we all have our own argument styles. These are often informed by our pasts and upbringing; they are as varied as our own histories. However, there are a few different options.

Someone with a happy upbringing may be more assertive and willing to address their problems because they had that demonstrated to them as children.

A spoiled child will grow up to be a demanding adult who refuses to give any quarter.

Those who got yelled at a lot as children may shut down and fawn to avoid getting hurt.

Someone who grew up in a violent household may mimic that behavior and get incredibly aggressive when upset.

Individuals whose parents didn't teach them emotional regulation will lash out and get loud.

Manipulative people may stay very calm and gaslight the other person, or they may get hysterical to garner sympathy and make people focus on comforting them.

Someone who has gone to therapy may revert to their original argument style, or they may imperfectly apply what they have learned in a way that feels a bit unnatural. They may start out with rage, then force themselves to calm down through grounding techniques.

People who have been coached through previous emotional outbursts could demand a time out, then fail to actually calm themselves down.

Some may refuse to acknowledge they are upset and insist, in increasingly forceful terms, that they are fine.

Others may get quiet or crack a joke to ease the tension, but it doesn't really help.

Keep each confrontation short

IRL, emotional confrontations are generally not that long. They don't go on for hours and hours, though it can feel that way. No one is going on and on about their feelings and sharing every little detail of how they feel (at least not that I know of personally, maybe other people are different).

Even the worst arguments I have had, the real nexus of the argument was maybe an hour or two, though the fallout lasted much longer. I'd say there was an hour maximum of real, active confrontation, preceded or followed by hours/days/weeks of simmering frustration.

Why? Because arguments are exhausting. You don't have the energy for that in the heat of the moment. Yes, feuds and fights can last years, but each actual confrontation is short.

For longer, more serious issues, hash it out over a few sessions rather than all at once. It's rare to get everything out of the way immediately unless the characters already have a strong, loving relationship.

Show incongruencies

Especially for more reserved people, they will likely have their emotions leaking all over the place but won't actually say anything. As such, focus on body language while keeping the conversation more focused on the plot. For example, Character A might be crying but still trying to argue their point about whatever is going on.

Address physical complaints instead of emotional ones

In many cases, people will use "I'm tired" or "I didn't sleep well" or "I'm not feeling great" as shorthand for whatever is actually bothering them. It relieves pressure by not making them talk about upsetting matters while still addressing their discomfort in some form.

You should also consider the fact that some people can't connect physical sensations to feelings, so they may genuinely feel ill and not really understand why. This is especially common in people who can't emotionally regulate or have been through trauma.

For myself, I tend to somatize my feelings, so I might not feel upset, but I will feel physically sick. My stomach will hurt, my chest will get tight, or I'll get a headache, but my emotional state will seem calm. This isn't all that unusual, and many people experience this to different degrees.

As such, you can have your character say that their stomach hurts, or that they have a headache and can't discuss this anymore, or that they need to go lie down because they're dizzy. If we know they're relatively healthy, this can be a clue that they're getting overwhelmed but either cannot pinpoint their emotions or don't want to discuss them.

Let characters advance and retreat

A lot of the time, someone will address a scary emotion and then retreat again, sometimes over a period of hours, days, or even weeks. This is normal: most of us don't have the emotional fortitude to forge ahead through something difficult all in one go. Character A may say something vulnerable, then change the topic, laugh it off, say they're done discussing it, or even leave the situation.

Leave emotions partially unaddressed

Again, it's rare for someone to spill out everything they're feeling all in one go. As such, have Character A address the most important thing - or the least important, depending on their level of emotional maturity - and let it be done for then.

They might say their small piece, but when someone tries to probe deeper, they don't have an answer, or they get "stuck" on that one emotional level and cannot go further.

If Character B keeps pushing, then they may get incredibly upset and push back, or retreat.

Have Character B point out the feelings

Works especially well if the other character is a close companion or a parental figure. Often, people who know us really well will have better insight into our emotions than we do. Or, we might have good insight into our emotions but are still too afraid to open up. Having Character B point out the issue gives Character A grace to be more honest.

I can't tell you how many times I've been really upset, so I've distracted from the issue by getting angry about something completely different. Then, my mom will gently point out that I'm not actually crying about my new plastic cup being broken or whatever; I'm actually upset about XYZ. In that moment, I realize I've been caught out and admit that yes, that's what I'm really upset about.

Have Character A address it with a third character

Who among us hasn't gone to someone else to talk about our feelings? Having a third party serve as a sounding board is normal. Sometimes, Character A will feel such catharsis from this conversation that they don't address it as thoroughly with Character B.

Of course, you can use this to your advantage and create more tension if the third character gives bad advice or is biased.

Remember that just because the third party responded well does not mean that Character B does. You also have to avoid omniscience and remember that Character B wasn't privy to that conversation.

Have one confrontation be a stand-in for a larger one

I always think about the "The Iranian Yogurt Is Not the Issue" post when I think about this. Often times, things like not doing the dishes or whatever aren't actually the big deal: it's lack of boundaries, communication, or respect. A minor argument can be shorthand for a larger one that is too challenging for the characters to tackle.

This isn't just creating drama for the hell of it, though; it's about exploring the larger issues without making the characters lay it out on the table. A good reader will be able to see it's not about the Iranian Yogurt as long as you set up the relationship well.

Currently, I am writing a story where Uileac and his sister Cerie go to rescue Uileac's husband, Orrinir. On the way there, Uileac idly comments on how he wonders where a waterfall comes from because he's trying to distract himself from thinking about the fact that his husband is kidnapped and possibly dead.

Cerie, being pretty wound up too, starts arguing with him about it because she's like "why is this relevant? We're kind of too busy to think about geology right now!" Uileac gets annoyed at her for being so aggro, and she gets annoyed at him for being so irreverent. Both of them are upset about something completely different, but they're too scared and panicked to actually address that, so they release their frustrations by complaining about waterfalls.

Those bad vibes have to go somewhere, but neither of them are very good at talking about their feelings (though very good at stuffing them down). As such, they take the pressure off by sniping at one another. You've probably done this too, when you get into a dumb argument about something absolutely pointless because there's something you don't feel strong enough to discuss.

There's also the fact that if you're mad at someone about something but feel it's too stupid or petty to discuss, that frustration will leak out and everything else they do will annoy you, leading to a bunch of irrelevant arguments.

Use "reaffirmation" gestures

I talked about this in a different post, but after an argument, the "make up" stage doesn't always involve going "ohhh I forgive you" and big hugs and kisses, especially when the two characters aren't emotionally mature.

Instead, Character A makes gestures that reaffirm the relationship. This could be offering to do something Character B needs, making plans for later, or changing the topic to discuss something the other character cares about ("how are your cats doing?") etc.

Note that these "reaffirmation" gestures aren't the same as the cycle of abuse. This is more when two characters have had a difficult emotional conversation but aren't really sure how to continue being emotionally open, so they revert to something safer that still shows they care. They're not over-the-top gestures either, but more a special attention to something the other person loves. Knowing what the other person loves also demonstrates the depth of their relationship.

As always, I can't tell you what to do with your writing.

You are the crafter of your own story, and if you want people to talk like therapists for whatever reason, that's your choice. However, we want characters to feel like real people, and most real people don't lay it all out on the table every single time they're upset. If they do, they might be trauma vomiting, which is icky in and of itself.

Healthy communication isn't always perfect communication. People can have strong, loving relationships and still get things wrong - we're human. Having people calmly and rationally and easily talk about their feelings every single time is not only kind of boring, but it also feels weird, because unless we're primed to discuss those difficult topics and know we're perfectly safe, we're not going to do that.

People don't even do that in therapy, where they are paying for the service of talking about their feelings! Therapists also don't always do that IRL!

We're humans, and your characters need to feel like humans as well. That means letting them be imperfect communicators and using context clues rather than making them do all the work for the reader.

If you liked my advice, consider purchasing my book, 9 Years Yearning, for $3!

[demie90s]

Second Place Never Felt This Loud

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ Azzi Fudd x Reader ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ MASTERLIST

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⭑ pairing: Azzi Fudd x reader (fem!reader)

⭑ summary: You and Azzi Fudd have been rivals since middle school. You broke records. You dominated courts. But you always came second—to her. And now? Now you’re on the same team, and you refuse to even look at her. What she doesn’t know is you’re not mad over a game. You’re mad because even when you won, she still got everything… including your attention.

⭑ genre: Sports rivalry, slow-burn tension, enemies-to-something

⭑ warnings: Cursing, intense stares, emotional tension, unresolved feelings

⭑ word count: ~0.8k

You walk into practice like you own the gym.

Not loud. Not cocky. Just unbothered. Cold. The kind of cold that made your name go viral in high school, not for the flashy dunks or post-game interviews—but for how you looked at opponents like they were beneath you. Unshaken. Unimpressed. Like winning was just… expected.

And it was. Until her.

Azzi Fudd.

She was the one name that followed yours like a damn shadow. Different coast, different school, but somehow always standing in the spotlight you thought you earned. You broke every record in your region. You dropped 40 in playoff games like it was nothing. You led your team to the state title senior year, snapped her team’s win streak, left her walking off the court in silence.

But when offers dropped?

She still got UConn first.

You didn’t even get a call. Not until weeks later. Not until they realized you weren’t just good—you were unforgettable.

Still, that moment stuck with you. That whole damn season stuck with you.

Because despite everything… she got what she wanted. Her dream. Her spotlight. Her team.

And now you’re on it too.

Only difference? She’s still fine as hell—and you’d rather bite your tongue in half than say it out loud.

You don’t speak to her. You don’t look at her. You treat her like air—present, but not worth your attention. And she notices.

Oh, she notices.

It started day one. Media day. Jerseys passed out. Everyone hyped, taking selfies, tagging each other in posts. You walked right past her. Didn’t even flinch. No greeting, no glance. Just a slow nod to Geno and a smirk at the camera.

Azzi blinked. Confused.

Because who the hell doesn’t acknowledge Azzi Fudd?

You, that’s who.

Every practice since then, it’s been the same.

You pass her in drills like she’s invisible. You call plays without including her name. You rotate away from her during scrimmages. She throws you a look—you stare through her.

But what nobody sees, what you’ll never say, is the reason why.

Because yeah, you hate that she’s talented. Hate that she’s a fan favorite. Hate that she’s got the kind of face that makes coaches forget you exist for a second.

But mostly?

You hate that after all this time, after all the battles and box scores and cold wars between you two… one look from her still makes your chest tighten like you’re sixteen again and watching her drop 30 on your home court.

It’s not petty. It’s not jealousy. It’s heartbreak mixed with ego.

You did everything. Everything.

And she still beat you.

Now it’s week four of preseason and the team’s starting to notice.

KK corners you after practice, sweaty and wild-eyed, voice high with curiosity.

“Ayo, why you act like Azzi don’t exist?” she asks. “You ghostin’ her like y’all dated in secret or something.”

You shrug. “She ain’t special.”

Aubrey raises a brow. “That’s bold. Considering she’s literally Azzi.”

“She’s just another name on a roster.”

Nika chimes in, playful but cautious. “You really don’t like her, huh?”

You tie your laces tighter, jaw tense. “She’s never been my favorite.”

None of them push further.

But Azzi hears.

She always hears.

And that night, while the team’s laughing over dinner and you’re leaned back in your chair pretending not to watch her—Azzi finally snaps.

She stands. Walks over. Stares down at you like you’re the problem she hasn’t solved yet.

“You got something to say?” she asks, low and sharp.

You look up slow. “Not to you.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’ve been on bullshit since day one.”

You smirk. “I’ve been real since day one.”

“You ignore me like I don’t breathe the same air.”

“Do you?”

Her jaw clenches.

The table falls quiet.

You keep your voice low. “You know what it feels like to be better in every stat and still come second?”

Azzi doesn’t answer.

You lean forward, finally meeting her eyes. “That’s what you did to me.”

The silence hangs heavy.

You push your chair back, standing toe-to-toe. She’s maybe an inch taller. Not enough to make you fold.

“You got your dream school. You got the fans. You got everything.”

She swallows.

You shake your head once. “And you’re still standing in front of me like I’m the one that did something wrong.”

Azzi’s quiet for a second too long.

Then, soft—barely audible—she says, “I didn’t know.”

You snort. “Exactly.”

And you walk off.

[milessunflowers]

I have had a vision (or hallucination) of a certain Argentinian by the name of Franco Colapinto and male!Finnish!reader. Reader is a rookie driver for like Red Bull or Ferrari and he's REALLY quiet and reserved. In fact, it takes him a grand total of 6 race weeks for him to actually speak to the press with even a single word, team radio is just a tiny bit better. Franco is the unofficial translator.

Many thanks!

THIS I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS OMG

franco colapinto x closed off!male!reader

synopsis: everyone thought oscar was kimi raikkonen 2.0, that is until you joined the grid and only talked to franco

author's note: this pairing is too good since franco seems to talk a lot and so if you can't (or don't want to) find the words, he's got you covered!! did project a tiny bit abt him helping you with the talking 😅 oops

you joined late in the season to replace checo, like around the same time franco joined

you didn't cause problems and really kept to yourself

you talked to max but only when it was you and him because otherwise it would be either: a. too overwhelming around everybody, or b. you weren't interested

once the idea that you have franco to talk to again really sinks in (you guys are dating ofc so obviously you would talk to him), you are always by his side

you aren't very loud when you talk but just loud enough for franco to hear

you slowly warm up to the other drivers and start talking with them bit by bit (starting with alex, valterri, and guanyu) before you start talking to the likes of lando and even oscar

you still refuse to speak an utter word to the press

you don't like most of them and will only give off the record interviews to the less intimidating (and by intimidating, i mean annoying or out of line) reporters

a lot of the time, franco is with you to help you speak just a fraction

turns out you still will only say a few words to the press

short one word answers that don't help them at all

a lot think you are rude

others are like, holy fuck, kimi? is that you??

you don't really care what others think of you though

if you don't want to talk, then you aren't going to

and franco fully supports you

he is always there to do the talking for you when you can't/won't

plus he absolutely loves talking so he's always down to ramble on

he is literally considered your translator and as a joke one time, sky sports put his title as "l/n's translator"

that is now what his instagram bio reads

you find it ridiculous but if franco's happy with it, hey, rock on

sometimes, on occasion to like nico r, you give full length sentences

but that's if you had a good race and aren't exhausted

but like i said, it's super rare so when it does happen, the media/fans go crazy but you really aren't bothered by it

franco is so happy/proud when you do talk on your own because no matter how much he loves helping you, he likes that you can do it yourself to

a lot of the time, he helps encourage you to speak more on your own but there are just times where you physically can't speak

so your face is just blank and unreadable, kind of like you are disassociating

thats when franco steps back in to help kind of coach you through it, even tho light a lot has to do with you not wanting to talk to some of them

you will, however write down what you want to say and hand it to them before following after franco

turns out, they didn't know you despise having to talk to (most of) them

they were upset, obviously

but what were they going to do? force you to? franco would just be the one to talk

and franco would talk and talk and flirt

which distracted them enough for you to sneak back to the redbull garage where you hide in your drivers room until you can leave

franco is the one who really talks to the press/uses socials/talks to fans because you also get really overwhelmed with all of it

you never got used to it even though you've been doing this for years

and franco never gets upset and is so patient and understanding when it comes to you talking

he never pressures you unless he can tell you need some help getting started

then he's helping in any way possible

TAGS! (if you want to be added, lmk!)

@op-81-lvr-reblogs, @koalapastries, @justaf1girl, @ghostking4m, @spoonfulofmilo, @seonghwaexile, @alex-wotton, @raizelchrysanderoctavius

[yayakoishii]

Please please please!! Sanji x reader request during whole cake island where sanji and reader were already a thing prior to the event and how torn up sanji is over it. Especially if they still hadn't said I love you yet and sanji is realizing that yes he loves reader and wants to marry them but he can't cause he wants to protect them and everyone. Reader having a similar realization/crying to the crew about it and Luffy going, nope this is happening I'm a captain and I'm marrying you two (let's pretend he learned captains can marry people from shanks but he still doesn't know what marriage is just that he can do this so he wants to do it)

Yours To Love | Sanji x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Genre/Tags: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Confession, Spoilers for Wholecake Island arc

A/n: I hope I'm not too late anon!! I think it's been a week or so since you sent this, so I hope you get to see this <3 I really sat down and wrote this in one sitting like a possessed person hahahah~ Thank you for the request and I hope this is to your liking (⁠*⁠´⁠ω⁠｀⁠*⁠) I tweaked your request very very minorly but I enjoyed writing it a lot!

Also available on ao3!

Seeing Sanji again was like seeing the sun after weeks and weeks of never-ending rain.

It hadn't been more than a week or two since you had separated in Dressrosa but being a part of the strawhat crew meant you could never catch a break for too long. When you heard what Sanji had done from Nami and the others, a small part of you hurt that maybe, just maybe, you weren't enough for Sanji.

The next moment you had discarded the thought completely and felt horrible for even thinking that way about Sanji. You knew he would never lie to you. You knew, more than anyone on the crew, just how much he truly enjoyed being a part of the crew. Your insecurity over how Sanji and you hadn't yet spoken of love made no difference to the fact that Sanji would never choose to leave the crew.

Maybe he didn't love you back but he loved the crew. So him choosing to go to the tea party where he would be married off was a sign that he must believe either that he can: (a) handle it by himself and make it back no problem, or (b) the situation was dangerous and he wanted to take care of it himself in a way that wouldn't harm the crew. You were more inclined towards b, considering this was Big Mom and Germa 66 that were being talked about.

You wanted to go get Sanji back too but the rest of the crew who had fought in Dressrosa was going to Wano and you were probably expected to do the same. But Sanji was still your boyfriend. He was yours, and he was going to get married off to some girl you had never heard of before today, and your heart refused to accept it. You refused to let him go. He was yours to hold, yours to keep and yours to love. You would get him back even if you had to fight Luffy to join them.

Thankfully, you didn't have to fight him at all. When you meekly suggested joining them, your captain had just tilted his head in confusion and said, "Huh? What do you mean? Of course you're coming. I was going to take you along the whole time."

And now half of the crew was here in Totto land, and Luffy had just defeated Cracker and Kingbaum was taking you three to the castle where Sanji was supposed to be. Instead, you had stumbled across Germa 66 midway and after days, you were finally seeing the face of the man you loved so deeply that it hurt.

"We've come to take you back!" Luffy was hanging onto the coach while you and Nami were still on the running Kingbaum and you could make out Sanji's face from a distance. You were smiling so hard upon seeing him look okay. He wasn't hurt. Good. Suddenly, he turned and kicked Luffy off the coach and you gasped.

"Hey!" Nami was equally shocked. "What was that for, Sanji?!"

"Get lost," Sanji said, his face unlike any he had ever shown the crew, "you miserable inferior pirates."

You considered the possibility that it could be a Germa clone. But there was no way they would take a close to the tea party when they already had done the effort of getting the real deal to come there.

"My name is Vinsmoke Sanji and I am a prince of Germa kingdom!"

He had never told you that in the few months of your relationship. You knew there was something he wasn't telling you but you had never pried because you knew that the reason Sanji wasn't mentioning it was probably because it was something that didn't matter. Germa was supposed to be a thing of his past– and it was supposed to stay there for the rest of his life. Except it had come back, like cockroaches are apt to do, and brought a storm into your lives.

You just stood there, listening to Sanji make claims that were like stabs to your heart continuously. For your situation, your mind felt thunderously calm. You were noting the laughter of his ‘brothers’ in the back, the way Sanji was staring with steely eyes at Luffy and hadn't met your eyes even once, the rigid muscles of his face as he spoke about how he would be getting married to Big Mom's beautiful daughter.

Maybe someone would say you are in denial, but you refused to believe it. Sanji was spouting a load of bullshit and it was making laughter bubble up in your throat. You only kept it down because this wasn't the time or place for it. The Sanji you knew would never say these words, unless he believed it was the only way he could keep you all safe.

"Don't get involved! I'll drive him off."

You couldn't say a word as you watched Sanji and Luffy start fighting. You had never thought you would see this one day. Your heart was hurting and your mind was a huge mess of thoughts but all you could focus on was how much Sanji must be hurting.

He must be wanting to come back home to the Sunny with you. He had told you in the dark covers of night when you two had made love, that there was no place more appropriate than with the crew that he thought of when he thought of the word ‘home’. The boy who had said that to you could never say these words and mean them. He would only say it if it meant protecting his home and his crew.

You watched as Luffy didn't hit back even once and kept taking hit after hit. Silent tears were already streaming down your face from watching Sanji's emotional hurt and Luffy's physical one. You wished this was a nightmare.

When Sanji knocked out Luffy, you finally exhaled and slowly walked over to him. Nami had already gotten past you and slapped him in the face, saying goodbye to him. You stared at Sanji when you were close enough. His head that had turned from the impact of Nami's slap didn't turn to look at yours, as if you were invisible. You let out a shaky exhale and smiled weakly at him.

"I guess," you swallowed as you placed a gentle hand on the cheek Nami was slapped and watched him flinch just slightly under your touch, "even if I said ‘Come back home with me, Sanji’, you wouldn't change your mind, huh?"

He still wouldn't look at you and he didn't respond, but his hand came up to rest over yours. He gave it a gentle squeeze, the way he always did when he would apologise to you for anything. You told your aching heart that it was fine. This wouldn't be the last time you see Sanji.

"This is farewell then," you said quietly, just low enough for only him to hear as your hand slipped away. "I hope you are happy wherever you are. Because if you were doing this for us, then you should know that we'll never be complete without you. And, foolish as I am, I won't be happy without you."

You turned away without looking at him and instead walked back to Luffy and Nami, your eyes threatening to spill tears you did not wish him to see. If this was truly the last time you would see Sanji, you wanted his last memory of you to be of you smiling at him.

You heard Sanji get back up and the carriage drawing away. Luffy got up and started shouting again. Your lips quivered, your back to the road as you looked at your captain. "You can kick me all you want, but you're the one feeling the pain!"

For all his idiocy and no brain cell moments, you knew how well Luffy knew all his crewmates. He may not show it most days, but he understood you all the best. You watched him scream some more, crying harder and harder until he ended with, "Without you, I can't become the pirate king!!"

They were gone after that and in the silence, you could finally feel the flood of thoughts wash over you once again, one thought the most prominent of all. You truly loved Sanji. You had never told him but you loved every inch of him, more than you had ever realised until this moment, when your heart was afraid that it would never be able to tell Sanji this.

"I don't know what I should do," you mumbled, covering your face in your hands. You could feel Nami's comforting arms around your shoulders. "I love him. I love that idiot. Who cares if he's a prince, a beggar or even a Marine?! No matter what he is, in every universe, I would still fall in love with him. I love him so much and I have to stand and watch him marry someone else, all while I keep thinking that it should be me. I want to be the one next to him on the altar and I've, I've lost my chance to tell him."

"No, you haven't," Luffy said firmly from where he was lying. Your tears were starting to dry up and you turned to look at your captain. His face was determined. "Sanji will come. And you will marry him."

"How are we gonna do that, huh?" You chuckled wetly as you settled down next to Luffy.

"We'll get him back and you'll ask him to marry you," Luffy said simply, "and then he will say yes and then, I will marry you two off."

"You'll be our officiant, Luffy?" You giggled. You didn't know what it was about him, but Luffy could make you believe in the most impossible of things. There was already a big part of you that felt at peace from his words. It would work out somehow. If it's Luffy, then anything is possible.

"I heard of it from two of Shanks' crewmates as a kid," he said, giving you a wide grin. "I didn't think I'd ever need to do it but I've looked into it ever since you two started dating. It was getting a little boring waiting for you two though. I was going to ask you two to marry if you took any longer."

"Oh god," you wheezed, feeling insane for laughing at this moment. "That would have been hilarious. A crazy story to tell if someone asked us ‘who proposed’ and we would have to answer ‘Luffy’!"

Your words were cut off by the arrival of clouds from Big Mom's rage. It was time for you to get Sanji back.

•

Pudding's words should hurt somewhere, Sanji thought to himself absent-mindedly from where he was hiding. He had brought the flowers and he had tried to convince himself that his marriage with Pudding could make him happy and it would keep the crew safe. But, she didn't love him the way you did. She could be the kindest, nicest person in the whole world, but she wasn't you.

You, who had seen him through his worst, who had personally tended to his wounds both physical and emotional, who had looked like a heavenly being under him, who had smiled at him despite his secrets, who understood him on such a fundamental level– you were the apple of his eye, the love of his life.

Pudding's words should have hurt but they didn't because he knew that her opinion of him had no impact on your opinion of him. And even if the whole world hated him, you never would. Sanji had thought that this would be where you draw the line. That you would finally get fed up with him and leave. No one even stayed with him in the first place and you had done it for so long that he was afraid you would leave. What he had done at this point would have been enough for anyone else to get angry and slap him.

And yet, when he had seen you there, he knew he couldn't look into your eyes. One look and his resolve would crumble. Because there was no mistaking what he felt towards you whenever he looked into your eyes that seemed to hold the whole world. He truly loved you from the bottom of his heart. There was no one else in this world who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

It had to be you. It could only be you.

And yet, he didn't have much of a choice in this whole matter, did he? Sanji just walked away, thinking and thinking about what he should do.

About how he could get back home to you.

•

When all was said and done and all of you were back on the Sunny, making your way to Wano, Luffy just placed a hand on your shoulder and said with his most serious face, "You better do it fast or I will do it on your behalf."

"Shut up," you weakly punched him in the shoulder and rolled your eyes– but your heart was happy. Neither you nor Sanji had talked about anything the whole time you were escaping. You had just hugged him silently and he had done the same; you knew there would be time to talk later. And that time was now. "Sanji?"

"Hm?" Sanji looked up from where he was cooking in the kitchen. After hearing the mess the crew had made with cooking, he had slipped back into his role as always. The sight of him chopping vegetables on the kitchen counter of the Thousand Sunny made your heart warm up. "Sweethea–(y/n)."

He switched from the endearing term to your name, looking nervous. He was probably thinking about how he didn't deserve to call you that anymore, huh?

"Am I no longer your sweetheart?" You asked teasingly as you crossed over to stand across the counter from him. He looked at you, scared yet hopeful. "Did you change your mind about me after seeing, ah, Pudding, wasn't it?"

"No, my love!" He cried out, hands shooting upwards to take you into his arms but he stopped just in time. He didn't know if you still wanted him to touch you. Somehow, it felt like the two of you from all those months back, when you hadn't yet started dating. "This whole time… I couldn't think of anything but how I have wronged you the most out of everyone. I do not feel worthy to be on the receiving end of your love."

"Shouldn't I get to decide that?" You retorted, leaning over the counter. You grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close. It had been too long since you had kissed your golden boy. "If you're the one I love and if you're the one my heart has decided it wants to marry, then you're already worthy, silly boy. You aren't a man until you realise that you're worthy of all the love in this world."

You ended up saying it all in a teasing manner but you could see the shock in his eyes at your words. The silence stretched over the kitchen awkwardly and your smile wavered for a second.

"You better say yes," you huffed to yourself, "because I don't think Luffy made a plan for you refusing my proposal."

Sanji was confused for all of one second before he was nodding, gently pushing aside the vegetables he was cutting so he could slide over the top of the counter to you. He cradled your face in his hands, holding you reverently as he placed kisses all over your face. You flushed under the attention, feeling home at last.

"This feels too much like a dream," he admitted, knocking his forehead on yours. "That you would still want me, that you would still love me… Despite all my mistakes, in spite of how I've wronged you, you're still here."

"I love you with all my heart," you admitted to him. "I love you for who you are Sanji, flaws and all. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If, if you happen to feel the same…"

"Don't be silly," he interrupted you, so unlike himself. "If I shouldn't doubt my worth, you shouldn't doubt my love either. I may not have ever said it before this, but I truly do love you so much."

Sanji pulled you into a kiss and you let him, your arms tightening around his waist. You had been so wrong back then. You had been scared that that would be the last time you're seeing him but right now, you knew that this was the start of seeing Sanji every day for the rest of your lives.

"C'mon then," you giggled after the two of you had made out for a while. "Gotta tell Luffy."

"Why?" Sanji was baffled. "What's Luffy got to do with any of this?"

"Hey now, our captain kindly offered to marry the two of us off, you know."

"He what?!"

"He was also ready to propose on my behalf. You better be happy I beat him to it."

"I don't even know what to say."

"Just let me do the talking, how about that?"

"But of course, sweetheart! ♡"

°•❀•°

All likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

★ Taglist:

@phantasmagoricalzenith | @secretlife028 | @100520s | @toertchen | @suga-tofu | @theluckyplaces | @luvfzw | @katiemrty | @writingmysanity | @akaashi-todorki | @yuninha2004

if anyone wants to be added or removed, lmk!

[dressed2k1ll]

I’m giving up on men because

1. The fact that they all assume they’re experts in everything

2. The fact that they all assume they’re smarter than me immediately

3. The fact that they allow and use slurs to divide women like Karen, Pick Me, Terf, The Main Character, SWERF, prude, slut bitch

4. The only slur they have is incel which relies on the premise that they’re entitled to sex

5. Moms are expected to be perfect and if she makes a mistake she’s a bad mom. Dads are considered perfect despite their mistakes and even being a poor parent

6. They think sex is a service

7. They cannot have a magic sexual moral barrier that divides children from teens from women. I refuse to believe it. And the media sexualizes kids and infantilizes female sexuality… so what now?

8. That porn is so normalized and teen is a category and yet we can’t check a man’s porn viewing history before allowing them to coach, treat, or be alone with vulnerable people.

9. That some will and can and do have sex with corpses. That deadness is sexualized in fashion photography as arousing

10. That choking has become normalized in porn

11. That we know porn becomes increasingly more extreme through algorithm and capitalism

12. That they hide behind plausible deniability and think we are too stupid to see it - like the devils advocate position

13. That they convince themselves their plausible deniability is a moral standard

14. That even the normal married ones with little girls for kids are shitty

15. That they think their pleasure overrides the civil rights of a person

16. That they believe consent magically changes abuse into kink

17. That they don’t even know what misogyny is

18. That they think misandry is somehow comparable

19. That they think my hurting their feelings or making them feel uncomfortable is a violent act. That pointing out violence makes me the violent one.

20. That they defend Johnny Depp

21. That they’re afraid of false accusations

22. That they defend the reputations of men they haven’t met more than the reality of the women who report them lmao

23. They don’t take care of themselves physically

24. They can choose to be civilized but use animal evo psychology to defend subhuman actions

25. They believe that women’s sexuality is an economy for them

26. They created religion to usurp creative power from women

27. They convinced other men that humans came from a man’s rib, from a patriarchal god, when literally no man has NOT come through and from a woman.

28. They have sexualized every aspect of women’s existence including pain and crying

29. They’ve convinced women that empowerment is a feeling and not a change in power position

30. They blame their antisocial loneliness epidemic on us

31. The tried to use the Love Languages on us

32. They created psychiatry as a way to at least in part control women just as they created medicine to control and destroy midwives

33. They place the locus of responsibility outside themselves which makes them perpetual victims

34. They created purity culture

35. They created porn culture

36. They buy and use and masturbate to trafficked and vulnerable women and it doesn’t matter to them

37. They corner me in the workplace

38. They are always looking at us - I want to not be perceived sexually at all

39. They use women for all of their emotional dumping and we aren’t certified to handle it

40. They resent our happiness (shaming it)

41. We had to create laws to keep them from marrying and having sex with kids. Like, everywhere. We haven’t even succeeded globally

42. They hold women in power to an entirely separate standard than men

43. They’re lazy

44. They can solve complex problems and be incentive and self-improving at work, but are seemingly really incapable of doing this for relationships

45. They won’t see something unless it directly impacts them personally

46. They are emotionally unintelligent

47. They are violent

48. They are wilfully ignorant of the constant threat of sexual violence women face

49. They are making and using technology to get past consent

50. They believe women have a use value

51. They’re lying when they say they can’t show emotions : art, culture, music, etc belie this. And this is aside from the fact that we acknowledge their pride, nationalism, anger, boorishness, sulkishness, entitlement, jealousy, etc. these are emotions too.

52. They use power to get or pressure or coerce sex

53. They don’t mentor women professionally unless they’re sexually attracted to them physically

54. They’re bad and aggressive drivers

55. They’re predatory and some don’t know it ???????

56. They play dumb

57. They owe us reparations and refuse to even consider this - we were left out of Das Kapital

58. They try to turn their wives into their mothers

59. They moderate men and women differently in social media spaces

60. We can’t trust them as soldiers or peace corps

61. We can’t trust them alone with kids period - who do we tell kids to go to if they’re lost?!!

62. That they’ve turned violence into sex “body count” “fuck the shit out of you”

63. We can’t be honest with them - we have to tiptoe around them

64. I’m pissed more men aren’t speaking out about the obvious loss of civil rights of women globally - what the hell! It makes me believe that they kinda want it to happen (plausible deniability of course) because like it’s not gonna hurt them right?

65. At any given time I could pull up incidents where instead of intervening while a woman is being assaulted, the assault is filmed by other men. The reverse simply doesn’t happen.

66. They love borrowed authority

67. I hate them because when they ask “what do you want me to do about it?” And you say the most slacktivist thing, they won’t even do that. They’ll do NOTHING.

68. Because the most unsafe place for a woman in the world is the home

69. Because a woman is killed by an intimate partner globally every 11 minutes

70. Because the number one cause of death for pregnant women in the states is murder

71. Because they believe their morals are their best intentions. It’s like they all think they’re brave but he’s anyone done anything brave ?

72. They use weaponized incompetence to control people and be lazy

73. They believe sexism is benevolence

74. Because someone taught them that it’s the thought that counts and it almost never is the thought that counts

75. That gang rape is a thing

76. Because only a handful of men have most of the global wealth

77. They move goalposts: you can say what your experience is but they’ll discount it as one. You can say it’s others that have experienced the same thing and they’ll discount it as over represented.

78. There’s no acceptable way to be really angry with them, and express that, as a woman

79. They feel comfortable making comments about women’s physical appearance, touching us without our consent and bank on us not rocking the boat.

80. They refuse to believe in the wage gap

81. We could have child care as being mandated but because women are primary childcare givers, we don’t have this.

82. Medicine was only tested on both genders recently because it was too difficult to do apparently

83. Our medical issues aren’t taken seriously

84. Mass shooters are almost exclusively men

85. Because they moan about suicide rates and forget to mention all the women and kids and sometimes strangers that suicidal men take with them

86. They believe they’re entitled to sex - through payment guilt or force

87. They rarely care about what girls think unless they have a daughter

88. Cultures abort girl babies and before they just exposed them to the elements. As a result there’s India and China and the Middle East Hong Kong, South Korea, Taiwan Vietnam etc there are more men than women

89. They don’t stop female genital mutilation. And they could if they wanted to.

90. More than 100 million women are missing - the shortfall of the number of women in the world we would expect in the absence of sex discrimination

91. They desire us to be dependent on them. Independence terrifies them.

92. They let women leave the workforce during the pandemic.

93. They see male history, male writing, male law as standard and they aren’t. They’d freak out if the USA had 9 woman Supreme Court justices

94. They are more sexist than even racist

95. Male over female Domination is the first and most primal form of oppression

96. Prostitution is the first form of trafficking not the worlds oldest profession

97. They can compartmentalize the pain of others - especially if it doesn’t impact them or their family (their own private kingdom)

98. Every man assumes he’s the king and grows up taught that they deserve to own things, people and property

99. They see women as girls all as potential sexual objects. Especially if they’re mad.

100. They treat sex workers as a different class

101. Women don’t keep men as sex slaves

102. They’ve made the law such that women cannot logistically perform murder in self defence

103. They say porn is free speech and that it’s not real when it’s convenient

104. Despite all of this: all of the proof and every experience logged and litigated… that they don’t believe that women still are being oppressed under male supremacy.

105. Because someone has said it’s okay for drag queens to use “bitch serving cunt” as an expression of femininity- and claim it’s not misogynistic

106. Because of the so-called “husband stitch”

#misandry #misogyny #feminism #feminist

[rachmob]

Headcanon time!

With drawing wips of Si'ha Nova at the end :] 🎣

The journey of Traveler, Leda and Si’ha to becoming what we know today.

I came up with an idea (more like a story plot) because I'm bored of waiting for some lore.

Melosia Realms is one of the most important Danceverses as is the “most close one” to Floworld, this gives them not only knowledge but power over others. However the fact that they can interact with the flow doesn't mean that they can control it so to keep their position as the most powerful of the Danceverses they expanded their knowledge and became the most powerful magic users. So to summarize: 

Flow users: born with it, still need training but they can perfectly overpass magic users if time is given.

 Magic users: needs to be learned, which is complicated if you aren’t born there.

Now, this has been happening for centuries. The level of magic that they use is impossible to reach unless you live 10 times longer than normal. This characteristic was something in Melosia Realms that was already resolved thanks to their enchantments which with the past of time started to blend with its users meaning that some families' descendants would naturally be born with unique powers and live longer, one of them being Si’ha family.

I have to add that even if they are the most powerful Danceverse they still have a strict rule to not abuse their powers. 

“ To whoever uses their powers without thinking in the consequences of their actions will be banished from the realms”

With all things considered, you can have an idea on how many problems did The Traveler involved. But first, their story.

Travel was a student of the magics of Meloisa Realms that was trying to level up his position as just one of the various powerful coaches around there. The requirements to study were becoming semi immortals (which meant if they had family with a normal life span then they would over live them, which was the case of The Traveler) and to have a close connection to the flow or be a powerful subject of magic. (Rare) 

There, Traveler and Si’ha meet. 

They weren’t exactly friends but they were both interested in the study of the other Danceverses so they became searching partners. Even so, that was the only thing both shared, Si’ha wanted to  form part of the government as a counsillor and she was already working on it, on the other hand Traveler still didn’t know what to do. But that changed when he created Discoball. 

Oh, yeah, also when he for some reason thinked that contacting the forbidden planet (Earth) was a good idea.

And then bringed some random girl to the Danceverses.

He probably was going to be exiled from Meloisa Realms if Si’ha didn’t save his ass at the last minute by showing to the gods Leda natural ability to interact with the flow (and of course the three of them omitted the part where she is able to open portals). Of course after that Si’ha made Traveler promise her that if another thing happened no one would come to help.

As we know, Leda and Traveler have a strong relationship ending up in them dating. HOWEVER I REFUSE TO SAY THAT CHILD IS HIS, SO JACK IS JUST SOME RANDOM KID THAT ENDED THERE THE SAME WAY LEDA DID BECAUSE BOTH OF THEM STILL ACTED IRRESPONSABLE.

They keep Jack, but this time Traveler admits that he was immature and wanted to bring Jack back home. Meanwhile Leda wants to keep Jack as she thinks she is doing him a favor by making him stay in the Danceverses. They are still together and things calm down (of course Jack is kept as a secret) until Cygnus shows Leda the vision about her becoming the ruler of the Danceverses (that’s how she interprets it). Then things get bad, REALLY BAD. 

Traveler searches for Leda as he doesn’t know about the vision, and when he is questioned by the gods on how he could have lost her then it’s revealed that she knew how to open portals. Although he isn’t exiled on the spot, he’s  told to not only bring Jack back to Earth but also Leda, and if he was successful on his mission then maybe he would be pardoned. 

Don’t mind me, I just like to fill up the gaps of the storyline with my own headcanons.

Also, I guess this Is like part 1? 

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO DO LINEART OK???????? I JUST WANT TO DRAW HER AS THE QUEEN SHE IS 😭😭😭😭

Next part

[blorger]

It should be easy for Draco to brush his comment aside as a stupid joke, to play it off as a laugh. Hell, it’s a running gag on their team; nearly everyone cracks jokes about how Potter’s arse is their unofficial mascot (or “ass-cot,” as their coach says), since it gets more press than the lot of them put together. Only Wood refuses to join in on the fun — but his name is Wood, for fuck’s sake, and blokes with names like that know better than to cast the first stone. “Er,” says Draco, before faltering again. Potter continues to watch him, a slight frown on his face. Draco wants to roll his eyes, to laugh, to say something like, “Yeah, we’re thinking of replacing one of the Bludgers with your arse, Potter, because it’s sure to knock folks off their brooms,” but it’s as though someone cast a Silencing Charm on him. The words feel stuck in his throat. Instead, he wordlessly shoves his broomstick at Potter, forcing the broom into his arms and nearly knocking him over with the force of it. “What the—?” Potter says blankly, almost dropping his own broom. “What’s your problem?” There’s a beat while Potter looks down in silent confusion at the two broomsticks he’s now holding, and Draco briefly considers fleeing the country. “See what I mean?” Draco says, trying to sound natural and not at all as though he’s just assaulted his teammate with a heavy wooden stick. “Can you, uh, feel the difference?” “What’s gotten into you lately?” Potter asks, sounding suspicious. “You’ve been all edgy ever since our win against Portree.” “I just really like my broomstick,” Draco lies.

from of course i cum fast, i've got a snitch to catch by swoons

[mybeautifulwifegojo]

OH! INCREDIBLY STUPID IDEA FOR A FIC

Yuji is cursed to be the best lover anyone has ever experienced. However, he doesn't know that. He just enjoys making people feel good.

People he has slept with once (1) who now are obsessed with him include, but are not limited to:

Toji (the first man he ever slept with, didn't realize he's Megumi's dad, was so horrified that he blocked Toji's number and avoids him like the plague)

Naoya (drunken mistake, Yuji regrets it every day of his life, Naoya WILL NOT stop with the booty-calls)

Mai (they made out as teens but did not discuss what that meant to either of them so while Yuji was just like "HELL YEAH I KISSED A BEAUTIFUL GIRL AT PROM" Mai was like "oh........ he has asked for my hand in marriage...... the first boy to truly See and Love Me....... I Must Have Him")

Junpei (they were both really depressed in college so they agreed to see if sex would cheer either of them up. it did, and now Junpei absolutely REFUSES to make their friendship weird and so has not told Yuji that he's pining)

Mei Mei (she seduced Yuji when he was sixteen and hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. it pisses her off. she keeps trying to get over him but like.... no one else even comes CLOSE)

Megumi (Yuji offered to give him his first handjob back when Megumi was still working through all of his trust issues and fear of other people, as like an introduction to letting people touch Megumi. it backfired and now Megumi craves Yuji)

Sukuna (Yuji doesn't remember this though)

anyway the fic would be like. Yuji's thirty now, totally oblivious to the hoard of people clamoring for his touch except that some of them are really creepy and he has Regrets, and he just started a new job as the phys ed teacher/baseball coach for a private school in Tokyo. The Classic Lit teacher, Gojo Satoru, thinks he's cute and tries flirting with him. Yuji is so shocked that this utter sexbomb of a man would be interested that he blurts that he's cursed and none of his relationships work out.

"Oh shit, same," Satoru says. "We don't have to date. I just like flirting."

and so they just. flirt. but they don't date, and they don't even touch each other. they just compliment each other and tell jokes and give each other lil gifts, and it's actually really fun and not at all stressful and Yuji relaxes and decides this is okay and he likes this and

and then everyone who's obsessed with him finds out that Gojo Satoru is doing what none of them even CONSIDERED. He's getting Yuji to fall in love with him.

This... causes problems.

[mbti-notes]

with regards to learning it may be important to know about IEOD(illusion of explanation depth) which may sometimes lead us to believe we understand more about the world than we think this can be especially true for those with an intuitive preference i write this because I've fallen for it too I hope this helps

I have discussed such learning problems in previous posts. After spending many years teaching, tutoring, and coaching students from a variety of backgrounds, in a variety of subjects, it never ceases to amaze me just how little people understand about learning. I believe that basic knowledge of learning theory is necessary for optimizing the learning process, if one hopes to be a good student of anything.

With so much information at the fingertips, it's more important than ever that people are mindful about how they learn. Being in the role of "student" is hard because you're a newbie and you're ignorant and you don't know the best way to tackle a big subject. Without a good teacher or an expert to guide you, you might come to rely on dubious sources of information, misinterpret what you read, misapply the ideas, or hit a seemingly insurmountable block/plateau.

Unfortunately, there are not enough good teachers to go around. Unfortunately, many teachers in public education are tasked with "babysitting" rather than teaching, to the detriment of learning. As a result, too many students get to high school, i.e., into adulthood, without a solid foundation of study skills.

Just recently, I was helping a twelfth grade student with essay writing. Being a good student, they couldn't understand why they kept getting low marks in writing despite putting a lot of effort into the assignments. Turns out, they kept submitting summaries of the literature when the teacher was explicitly asking for analysis of the literature. When I brought this problem to their attention, they were even more confused, because they thought they had been doing analysis all along. They had no clue that there was a difference between summary and analysis, so they were incapable of getting to the level of depth that the teacher was demanding.

One of the first things I often have to do with students is explain the difference between lower order vs higher order learning. Lower order learning is usually enough to pass the class throughout K-12 or achieve basic competency. Higher order learning moves people into expert territory. Without a clear vision of what they should be aspiring to, students tend to get stuck in lower order learning.

The difference between lower and higher order learning is neatly summarized by Bloom's Taxonomy, a conceptual framework for evaluating cognitive/intellectual ability. It breaks down the learning process into six categories/levels: 1) remember, 2) understand, 3) apply, 4) analyze, 5) evaluate, 6) create. Since it's hard to quantify exactly what's happening in a student's mind during learning, this framework helps by asking concrete questions about what the student can or cannot do.

My student got stuck at level 2 when the average requirement for the class was 4. They gave me a sample essay that their teacher considered to be "excellent" and it was easily at 5. While they could "feel" that there was a difference between their own essay and the excellent essay, they weren't able to articulate the difference at all.

One learning problem that people, Ns especially, often suffer is that they tend to get ahead of themselves, which is related to illusion of explanation depth. It's basically trying to run before walking. For example:

they believe "gist" is enough and dismiss details

they conflate knowing (theory) and doing (real world)

they judge/conclude without proper analysis

they try to create without mastering the basics

The above problems arise when a person doesn't realize how much they don't know (and in the case of an unhealthy personality, they refuse to acknowledge it). My student (N) is a good example. They believed that being able to do level 2 stuff (paraphrase, summarize, interpret, give examples) qualified as level 4 "analysis" and that this meant they had "mastered" the material. They simply didn't know any better or that more was possible. It wasn't until I explained to them the differences between lower and higher order learning that they began to realize how low-level their writing actually was.

I've talked before about the differences between a good student vs a good learner. A simple way to think about it: A good student is preoccupied with proving how much they know, so they are mainly motivated by extrinsic rewards or egotistical gain. By contrast, a good learner is preoccupied with how much they don't know, so they are mainly motivated by intrinsic rewards or intellectual humility that naturally breeds intellectual curiosity.

[lionshavegoldenhearts]

Are we too self-centered in modern times?

We live in a time where the philosophies egoism and hedonism lead the face of everything that's trendy.

For those that may not know:

Egoism: Self-interest serves as both the motive and the moral. Your thoughts and actions revolve around your personal interest.

Hedonism: Pleasure and self-indulgence are the goal. Your thoughts and actions revolve around pleasure.

*please note that these are not the same; hedonism cannot exist without egoism (self-centeredness), but egoism can exist without pleasure being the ultimate goal

Mainstream social media content subtly preaches the importance to prioritize the self and indulge in pleasure or activities that contribute directly to pleasure for the self. Living life for yourself (life coaches and travel blogs), self-care (skin/hair/nail/etc. -care girlies), discipline for the sake of self-betterment (gym bros), moral validation (same-belief political discourse), and beauty & fashion (self-explanatory) all seem to make up the overwhelming majority of social media content aside from news.

There are, of course, other facets of the internet where this is not the direct message. A good example is the recent rise of the "nuclear family trad-wife." One would think that the goal is to be subservient and show submission and compassion for the family, but who is truly being validated by "performing" well? The wife. The pleasure of the family and the wife, as well as the satisfaction of success, can still be linked back to egoism and/or hedonism.

These values can also be found outside of the realm of the internet. People act in the best interest of their self All The Time, and it's not an inherently bad thing. Caring for yourself and your state of being is survival. It's commonplace, and so natural that we don't even think of it most of the time. We eat and drink to sustain life. We make choices in our youth that are either for the sake of our future or our own desires in the moment (high school). Even something as small as readjusting your sitting position to be more comfortable is acting in the best interest of the self. These, of course, are not examples of egoism and hedonism, because that's determined by bigger, fully conscious decisions. The point is that it's important and a good thing to look out for oneself; it's human nature at the core. If you or a someone you know is seriously struggling with this concept, please consider seeking help for you or that person.

*Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988

If self-centeredness and pleasure-seeking is key to enjoyment and survival of life, then when does it become a problem?

Humans are social creatures. We have constructed a society where it is nearly impossible to live without impacting and interacting with others in some way, even if you live off the grid. I'm not just talking about the Butterfly Effect either. Even our choices to avoid interacting with others will impact the outcomes of their situations. These are represented through phenomena like the bystander effect, neglecting to vote in elections, inaction leading to someone's death, not crashing a wedding, not returning calls, not getting in someone's way, etc.

When we make decisions in our own best interest or in the name of pleasure, we have the ability to cause harm towards others. I don't need to explain further or give examples for that claim be true.

However, that is not the kind of interaction I'm talking about.

There is this group of ideas: "I did not ask to be born in this world, therefore I owe nothing to the people that inhabit it." "I'm not responsible for what happens to other people; that's their business, not mine." "I should not have to go out of my way for the sake of others, as I'm not debted to anybody."

Before I get yelled at, I promise I'm not a boomer trying to complain about 'kids these days' refusing to work or go the extra mile. I'm one of y'all, I swear 😔.

Now, before folks get upset, I'm not saying there's anything straight up wrong or "incorrect" about those statements. With that being said, I'm not explicitly agreeing with them either.

I'm saying that these ideas can be potentially dangerous when applied to everything.

When we devalue compassion and empathy for others, people get hurt. It sounds a lot like "Well yeah, you don't have to go out of your way to xyz, but are you responsible for the effects caused by your lack of action?"

We don't have to be polite, other people choose how they react to my words. We don't have to make all places accessible and welcome, nobody's entitled to be there. We don't have to out people as dishonest to others, because that's not our business. We don't have to tip or donate to the less fortunate, even if we live comfortably enough to do so without any issue. We don't have to respect the people that disagree with us as equal individuals, sometimes their wrongfulness means they have less worth than us. We don't have to move for anybody, and we don't have to share our space because that's their responsibility. I don't owe it to anybody to be kind, because the world doesn't deserve my forgiveness after what it's done to me.

These are examples of the sort of reasoning I see most often. These ideas can come from all kinds of people. There's a harshness to the truth in them. Realistically, we don't have to do anything at all. It is true that no other person is entitled to the services you provide. That is a fact that I will never dispute. I'm also not saying that these statements are morally incorrect.

The problem arises when large groups of people with influence believe in these things. Of course we don't need to have compassion and empathy for others, but when people that hold ANY kind of major power over the outcomes of others' situations believe this, it's dangerous. I'm talking about both rich/influential people AND average joes.

I'm talking about the bystanders that were there to witness me getting textbook bullied from elementary school up to my freshman year of high school. They did not owe me anything. They didn't have to intervene, because my personal wellbeing is nobody's responsibility but my own. Do I still resent them for watching me without a shred of sympathy? It's complicated. Those people (kids AND adults) are not bad people for standing off to the side. They caused me no direct harm, and they didn't bully me.

I'm not seeking attention or sympathy, I swear. Just using my experience to communicate my thoughts.

This story sounds biased, and it probably is, but it's still true that they were under no obligation to help me (except for some of the adults, lol). Of course it would have been nice, but that is their decision to make.

The people that watched are good to me now. They were good to me then, just not in the moments that I got bullied, which were unfortunately often. They weren't bad people in those moments, just absent: bystanders looking out for themselves.

Now imagine these scenarios: Sometimes, the bystander is also the bully. Sometimes, there is no obvious bully. Sometimes, the bystanders are not good people at all. Sometimes, the bystanders are bystanders ALL the time. Sometimes, the victim is a bad person. Sometimes, the bully is always good when they're not actively bullying the victim. Sometimes, the bully is life.

The question lies in where we as a society draw the line.

Where is it morally unacceptable to watch from afar without intervention?

Is it wrong to be focused on your own interest rather than the interests of other humans?

If this can be true on any level, are we all bystanders at some point in our lives?

Are we even capable of being egotists and hedonists without directly harming others in some way?

Or

Is this a passing trend?

Will there be a time and place where people focus more on the community rather than the individual? Or is compassion fading away for the better of the individual man?

Also if this was hard to read, it's cause I'm tired and too lazy to edit. Quite... egoist and hedonist of me... 😏

[ghostcathedrals]

sports coach toji ://///

basketball

he's the chill coach; honestly worrisome how chill he is even at crucial times when they're trying to beat the quarter clocks. he's so composed even when the gap is widening (regardless if in favor of toji's team or not) that it's insulting to the other team's coach, as if he's belittling the game itself. like it's a practice game.

sports parents, esp. moms ..... i'm sure you know how they regard toji. single coach who spent a good sum of his money during his divorce court trial. anyway. they love him istg they watch the games both for their kids AND their coach

you're his favorite sports parents lmfaoooo

however, he's NOT chill during practices, especially after losing. now, toji's teams have far more winning streaks than losing, so he's usually stricter at the peak of the streaks or right after one loss. he's got that chill look with a sinisterly strict aura underneath.

"you're not yet good if you can't beat me" ⎯ is way too good it takes several practices for his team to catch up. well, good for him ⎯ two students from the male team, geto and gojo, were able to block his attempt for a two-point shot. AND NO NEPOTISM OK but maki's that grade school team point guard who's able to replicate his signature half-court shot. he got her a pair of basketball shoes for that.

megumi way too good for grade schooler but he also credits his vigor to practice on itadori yuuji.

toji too good there are offers being sent to him with higher pay and larger connections (which do attract him) but he said he'll stay because his son likes his school which is in the basic education of geto and gojo's university

toji likes the way you scream when you cheer and imagines if you'd sound just as loud when he (TOOT) you ;))

football

it's obvious hot under the sun on the field so yes he does take off his coach unform and practices with them with only either a muscle tee or a tank top (yes, i refuse to call it wife-beater). sometimes he forgets to take off his chain necklace even tho it's itchy bc god this man gets lazy at the weirdest times possible

oooooo everyone just loves rerouting to pass by the field (same) and then they'd take pictures so at some point college football got too famous bc of the hot coach

so toji's usually more of a verbal socratic coach. during cooldowns or breaks or warmups he makes sure that his players know how to think for themselves so that even if they're in the zone (which renders them on autopilot and when they're disturbed they lose focus abruptly). he has a way of making them calm down when they know what to do. the same method even helped them with their academics holy shit!

he's lazy when demonstrating but when he does omfg pls kick my face idk. important notes to consider are his agility and flexibility; strong physique in general; and quick thinking. even if he slows down to show them, he's still quick.

he does get frustrated bc we all get crankier when it's hot. he doesn't lash out on his players, he almost never did before, but he does lash out at home when megumi's not around lmfao.

and then one time your kid told you to watch his practice (for this your kid is assigned male at birth), so you did, and then you see his coach and all of a sudden your cute kid always sees you at the bleachers side, front row. parent perks.

the japan national team wants him to be the coach but he's like ..... maybe next time when my son joins your team

omfg if you do get together imagine the way he's flexible and he never gets to drain his stamina because it's overwhelming. i feel bad for you. it will be a tough time. i wouldn't just say in bed, but hehe. he'd fuck you anywhere as long as you say yes.

volleyball

ah yes, toji trained the best spiker-setter duo (that's the coach ukai in him) so now he's graduated two top players in the national team who will, sadly, go to separate teams after an intimacy problem which toji tries to be out of (who knows if the conflict was their breakup after college but ended up as teammates lmfao)

can we talk about how insane his spikes would be strong ones, insulting feints, and ooooo the cross court spike 😍😍 and his wrists!! the trajectory changes caused by his littlest techniques!

Thighs.

you take care of yuuji on behalf of his parents so now you're always seeing him and his very very very special friend and yuuji's equally ecstatic sister ⎯ megumi and nobara respectively. who knew megumi had such a hot father like???

toji being a volleyball player/coach makes a lot of sense ykwim he's got that service ace that no one has ever beaten until toji suddenly retired from playing and started coaching instead

home gym 😍

he's got that vacuum-sealed looking shirt every time he's coaching or at the games specifically. i think they put him on screen often for publicity honestly.

they ask him, "you're one of the best coaches of this generation, and the best graduating players were under your wing. what inspires you to keep being so great at your teaching?" and then he looks at the camera, and grins. "there's someone who watches during practice that divides my attention. i know they're watching right now." and then he winks

said person will not be able to walk the day after the winning games.